The 88th Hunger Games: Book One
by pl.16.16.16.16
Summary: The annual televised fight to the death in which two tributes aged twelve to eighteen participate is about to reach its eighty-eighth year, and of course, District 9 is never a favorite to win. Regardless, seventeen-year-old Marisole Zinnia's life is put on the line as she must learn to stay alive while retaining the sparse humility she has left.
1. District 9

**So, here it is, my first ever Fanfiction story ever. I wanted to write a non-cannon story so bad because I feel like there just aren't very many out there. The HG page is so filled with SYOT's-not that there's anything bad about, trust me, I know how fun they can be-but the problem with them is there's a lack of character development and focus.**

 **Anyways, please enjoy and feel free to point out any errors. Also, any sort of feedback is very helpful. Thanks!**

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There was this story I heard one time about a boy; maybe ten or eleven years old, I don't really know. He lived near the Granaries and his parents worked as shovelers, sweeping away what had fallen on the ground during transport. They only came home twice a week during Harvest. The boy and his family were starving-as most are in this district-and he didn't really have a choice; no one here really does. He stole a loaf of stale bread from one of the inventories. He was caught and killed on the same day. His parents didn't find out until a few days later, when their shift was over. I never caught his name.

Jackson reminds me not to think about him, the boy. I know he's right, it's not like it'll make me feel any better-I'll probably end up just like him. There's countless stories like that around. Whether they're all true, who can say? They just get passed along from one to another, until eventually they become distant rumors, reminding people of the truth. Some say the Peacekeepers spread them, hoping to incite fear into us all. I can't say for sure though. But what I know for certain is that the truth can be brutally honest.

I look to my side, peeking my eyes out of my hood and looking a few feet to my left. He's a natural, Jackson. He can keep the conversation for sake. He tells me it's all about the eyes, to never lose focus. I don't think I'll ever understand it, that's probably why I'm always the one making the snatch. I look down at the baskets. The picking aren't always high; bread, corn, sugar, whatever the merchants can pick up off the ground. Technically it's not illegal to take fallen surplus off the ground, but stealing from those who sell it sure is. I mean, as long as neither of us get caught.

Usually I grab some bread and sugar from various woven baskets like today. There was this one time I swore I saw an orange, but they don't grow oranges from where we're from. At least that's what Jackson keeps telling me, but I was sure of what I had seen.

I make sure no one's watching me before I quickly and scrupulously tuck the food in the inside of my jacket pocket. The trick is not to be nervous, just keep your gaze leveled and breathing steady. Of course in the back of my mind it's hard to push away the image of that little boy and the thought of death breathing down my neck.

I knew no one had seen me this time. I can feel it; no heads turning, no eyes twitching, no hearts pumping-except that of my own. That's how you know it went off without a hitch. I nod to the lady standing behind the small kiosk clearly preoccupied in dealing with Jackson's endless questions. I don't look at him though. That's our most important rule, that way if one of us gets caught it won't go both ways.

I leave the stand and venture out of the makeshift market area in front of the large-gray buildings known as the Granaries and Sheds that are mostly used for storing grains. This market only works during the winter months, when there's no Harvest. People mostly work on the farms when it's warmer. But when it's over, they still need to find ways of feeding themselves, so they get creative by selling whatever they can. The Peacekeepers don't mind, as long as they get a personally substantial reduction in price.

I make my way out and start to head down a gravel path that's mostly filled with run-down tractors and the occasional Peacekeeper. I stare down at my feet, shoveling through the endless piles of brown seeds littering the ground. I don't bother looking up, I've memorized the path by heart.

Look, say what you want about how it's wrong and how others are starving and working hard to keep their families alive. That we're just taking advantage of those who are struggling as much as we are. That I'll just end up like that boy from the story. And you know what, maybe I will, but most of what they sell isn't theirs to begin with. And second, there's a clear distinction between that boy and myself: I'm smart enough not to get caught, _we're_ smart enough not to get caught. Then my breath quickens and I start thinking about Jackson. He usually catches up to me while I'm heading to our meeting place. It takes him some time, he doesn't want to raise any suspicion.

I arrive at our usual spot, near a rusted lamp post resting between two diverging roads. He always tells me that if ten minutes go by to head home and to not look back. I know I can't do that. Deep down we both know there's no halfway with this.

I check my pockets to make sure something hasn't fallen out. My hand is met with the soft, comforting specs of sugar and the small loaf of bread that's hard to the touch. It's always stale, we usually have to cut off the molded bits, but it's far better than nothing.

Maybe one day we will get caught. Shot and killed. Just end up more lifeless bodies littering the streets, since no one bothers to move them anymore. Eventually, some of them start smelling so bad the Peacekeepers are forced to, but not until the smell gets stuck in your memory for a long, long time.

The same thoughts fill my mind each time I stand waiting. I don't know why I do it. Some days I get a bad feeling and I have to lie and tell him I'm sick. He wouldn't take me seriously otherwise. He'd call it nonsense; that our stomachs are worth more than our thoughts. _Huh, yeah right..._

Besides who's to say we _are_ doing something wrong. Just look around. Most people here are starving, that's if they're not dead already. Most say they'll never succumb to it, that they'd never result to begging like some who really have no other choice. Here, begging is considered the worst kind of shame. Instead, they retain what little humility they have left by curling up into little balls on the street until they're no longer breathing. Really it's not the Peacekeepers, nor the awful conditions that infuriate me. It's the Capitol who's to blame, but have fun saying that out loud without guaranteeing a bullet to the head. Some thoughts are best kept inside, no matter how bad they yearn to get out.

I'm always relieved to see his shape in the distance. The same half-smile protruding from his face. The way he always walks so ostentatiously, brushing his brown hair to the side, clearly showing off. As if I'm ever looking. Yet, I can't help but smile back every time. We walk home together, not daring to stop and look at our picking just yet. Peacekeepers are everywhere and I personally don't feel like getting shot around ten in the morning. Too early.

My eyes dart around sporadically while we walk. I honestly can't say I enjoy taking in the view; being mesmerized by poverty isn't very idyllic. District 9 has that gray, cold atmosphere around this time of year. We're fortunate enough not to have lots of snow, it's mostly grain that covers our streets, blanketing the ground beneath our feet. We keep walking, our shoulders touching-despite him being a little taller than me, but I'll catch up.

We walk past brick buildings, most of which have broken windows or torn down wooden doors. We pass crammed alleyways and filled dumpsters expelling endless amounts of garbage. Even the farms converse by our view. They're all empty, but you oughta see during the Harvest. It's packed with people and the sun makes the wheat look like it's glowing. I mean it's nice to look at as long as you don't have to work on them.

Down past the farms and the darkest of alleys resides _our_ humble home. I wonder if all orphanages look the same in every district? Ours is like most others; a plain, burgundy brick building standing three stories tall. Except our windows aren't cracked or broken like most, no, they're lined with sturdy metal bars instead. The front of the building is enclosed by a rusted metal gate that spans the perimeter. There's also an old marble fountain that used to be beautiful, but it hasn't worked in years. Most things in this district don't. Whereas most of the electricity is redirected towards the Sheds or Granaries for Harvest, or to simply fuel Peacekeepers' homes.

Every year Jackson reminds me that we're closer to getting out and living on our own, I swear it's like clockwork. I can never bring myself to argue with him. He's right, in a few years we'll be out, but then what. Where will we go? The rotting sorrow-filled streets that await us? No matter how much I despise the orphanage I've always known it beat living out of its fences. Who knows, maybe we could make it on our own, but I just don't want to spend my whole life as a thief.

We walk past the fountain and head for the stone steps leading into the building. I've been here since I was around two years old. I-like most others here-have never really known my parents. Jackson came here when he was about six, which is older than most. I can't imagine how much harder it must of been for him. See most of us didn't get the unfortunate opportunity of actually remembering our parents before arriving here. I know he doesn't like talking about it so I usually grit my teeth despite all my curiosity.

Upon entering, I'm met with the same authoritarian eyes glaring down at me from the sound of the opening door. The eyes belong to the headkeeper, an old starcky women named Abatha. Nice lady for someone her age. Unlike others around she never hits. She rarely even raises her voice; that stare is all she needs to submit her authority. Not once in all my years have I tried to anger her, at least not deliberately. I guess it's also because I somewhat don't despise her. For starters, she's the only one who bothers to actually remember my name.

"Well, I thought you two had run away for sure this time," exclaimes Abatha as we enter and pass the front desk.

"Oh, we wouldn't possibly consider leaving _you_ ," replies Jackson with a smile. I never said that _he_ was very fond of her.

"We were just gone a little longer than usual, that's all," I say, trying to give a better explanation. Abatha's eyes begin examining us, hoping to sniff out some truth in our words.

"Yes, well… Suppose you get going?" We start to head upstairs, but before we can climb the staircase Abatha turns back to us. "You two do know what day it is, don't you?"

"Yes, we know," I reply, hoping to end the conversation.

"Well I laid some outfits on your beds. Marisole, I got you that nice white one you're always fretting about."

"Isn't that just wonderful?" I say with an effort. Abatha turns back to her paperwork and Jackson grabs my arm signalling me to move. We climb up the wooden steps until we're out of earshot.

"I didn't know you were so eager for a dress," he teases, gently nudging my elbow.

I almost blush, but I try not to give him the satisfaction. "It's not for me by the way. It's a present for Lila. I was thinking of cutting the ends off so it would fit."

"Then what are you gonna wear, don't you want to look beautiful too?"

"I'll improvise," I nudge him back. "Besides, what's got you so interested in my appearance, huh?"

He's speechless for a moment, "I guess you got me there." I manage a smile, but then I realise what day it is and it disappears.

We keep walking to the end of the hall, where it verges into two different paths, one marked _boys_ with the other one marked _girls_.

"Don't be too long, alright?" he says, and leaves towards the boys' dormitories. I stand watching until he vanishes into a room in the far end. Only then do I turn and head towards my own room.

I pass several other doors each numbered at the top with a bronze plate. Most of the numbers have been taken out. The creaking floor becomes louder as I arrive at the last door down the hall, the one with the number zero above it. However, all that's left is the faded outline of where the number was supposed to be.

I open the door and immediately feel the thin arms of a little girl wrap around my waist, her blonde curls tangling on my shirt.

"Oh, Marisole! I'm so glad it's you. I thought for sure this time you'd get caught. I...I thought I should go tell Abatha, but then-"

I instinctively hug her back. "No, no. Jackson just took a little longer this time, that's all," I say.

She lets go of me and takes a seat on her bed. Our room is the smallest one in the orphanage. There are only three beds and a window boarded up by bars. There was another girl who slept here, but she was reaped a few years back. Abatha told me not to watch-that it would only make it worse. I didn't listen. I still remember her death on the first day; a spear going through her throat and her cannon going off. No one wants to sleep here anymore-they say it's bad luck, that they'd rather sleep on the ground. But I never believed in luck. Besides, that's how I met Lila in the first place. She came here pretty young. There wasn't room anywhere else and Abatha thought I could use some company. Lila never seemed to care much about luck either.

I never actually caught her last name-she didn't want to tell anyone, and here it's sort of courtesy not to ask about someone's parents, better to leave the past in the past. So instead, I just gave her my own, Zinnia-yes, just like the flower. She liked it and it stuck.

I look to see Lila fumbling with the dress laid out on the bed.

"Abatha brought this in, she said it was yours," explains Lila, placing the dress overtop of herself, pretending to wear it.

"Actually I got it for you." My heart begins to throb as her eyes widen in excitement. I crouched down and grab the fabric at the bottom. "See, I thought we could cut it down here and it would fit just perfectly."

She jumps up from her bed and twirls around with the dress in her hands, I can't help but laugh. Suddenly, she stops and turns to me. "Wait, what will you wear then?"

"I still have that one from last year remember," I say.

I head towards a wooden drawer on the far side of the room and empty my pockets into the cupboard. I split off a piece of the bread and offer it to her. I notice that Lila's looking away.

"Hey, you want some?" She shakes her head. "Well, you're not gonna get the chance to eat later, or would you prefer to leave on an empty stomach?"

"No, I'm not that hungry," I spot the worry in her words.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

Lila places the dress on the side and stares out of the window. "It's just… I want this day to be over, you know?" I see the fear building in her bright blue eyes.

I immediately go to hug her. "Lila, look at me. Let's try not to think about it, okay? We'll go out, clear our heads, it'll be nice. Come on, I bet Jackson's getting impatient."

She's initially hesitant, but ultimately nods her head and we both leave the room. I can't image how hard it must be for her. Lila's still eleven, meaning she won't be reaped for another year. But that doesn't mean it makes it any easier for her; watching Jackson and I go each year, hoping the both of us will come back safe and sound.

We take the long route outside, avoiding the large staircase and Abatha's certain ambush. We arrive outside and head towards the gate. Jackson's already waiting there and leaning on the side of the fence. I swear he can be more impatient than I am sometimes. He motions with his hand at an imaginary watch, but all I do is roll my eyes and the three of us head out.

Reaping Day is the most joyous of occasions here. You can tell since the streets become virtually devoid of people, leaving an eerie silence as if everyone is holding their breaths. We take the same route as we do each time. We trail off the gravel path and climb the small wooden fence leading into a vast wheat farm. It literally stretches for miles. We follow the fence until we reach a large orchid tree blowing silently in the shivering wind. Most farms are deserted during the winter. Sometimes Peacekeepers patrol them with dogs, but on a day like this most are needed in the Square. We come here often whenever we need to get out and lose ourselves in the scenery, especially on a day like today.

See, during Harvest, even the children are needed to work. School is out as well. It's better we make use of our hands rather than our brain. Who ever hear of educated farmers? Fortunately, Jackson and I were spared from plowing and instead made us keep guard of the crops, making sure crows and other wild animals stay away. Part of the farm stretches so far out that they didn't even bother to build fences around it. Instead, they just use a bunch of orphan kids to risk their lives and keep unwanted predators out, sort of like human bait. I'll give it to them, it works for the most part, as long you don't get killed in the process. It happens from time to time. Sometimes a wolf appears out of nowhere or a starving animal gets desperate and tries a shot at human flesh. They don't really train us either, but they do let us use weapons. Mostly just poorly crafted bows and wooden stick with sharpened ends, but every now-and-then they'll actually let us use guns. All I know is without this I probably would have jumped out of a window by now, despite the fact that I'd have to cut through metal bars-but I find people can do almost anything if they're desperate.

We started bringing Lila here with us, she no longer fell for our lies and we decided she was old enough anyhow. I thought it would be a good idea to get Lila running, climbing trees, even foraging for plants before her name was placed in the Reaping. Jackson was strongly against it, so I stopped pestering him.

I take a seat beside Jackson on a log near the foot of the tree. He ended up rolling it here for a place to sit and watch after I kept complaining about how uncomfortable sitting on the ground was.

"Hey, I got you something," he says, breaking my train of thought. "I didn't want to show you on the streets but here." I notice him carefully pull out a rose from his jacket.

"Where did you get this?" I ask, mesmerized by its bright red color. I've only ever seen ones covered in mud with petals falling out.

"After you left from the market. I saved up some money. That's why I took so long." He hands me the rose and I can see Lila holding in a smile. "What, are boys not allowed to do that anymore?" he asks, turning towards her.

I sniff it and glance to see Lila walk off towards the tree, trying to leave us alone. "Wait, you _bought_ this?" I ask.

"Yeah, well. I didn't want to steal you a present. I thought if I bought it it would be more meaningful." He takes the rose and places it gently in my hair.

"Now all the people of Panem can see how pretty I am if my name gets called." He smiles, but I can tell he's got something on his mind.

Before he can speak, I hear Lila call out. "Are you two done already? We've only got a few more hours!"

"Yeah, yeah. We're coming," replies Jackson.

Before he gets up I tug at his sleeve. "Wait, you mind if I go walk on my own."

He looks at me pensively, but then nods his head. I watch him go join Lila and I grab ahold of my senses and venture out on my own.

I head along the fence and find myself staring into the woods on the other side. I just need to clear my thoughts, that's all. No matter how much I try to take in the scenery my mind keeps reverting back to Jackson's idea of leaving the orphanage and living on our own.

It's days like this I wish I wasn't born here. It's days like this I do want to run away, live somewhere else, far away from this district. It's days like this I almost do. We'd bring Lila with us, we'd figure out a way to keep her safe. Jackson and I would find jobs somewhere, somehow. We'd make it work. Besides, this is Jackson's last reaping and I've only got two more. But then I think about Lila. Her name will be entered for the first time next year, then she's got another six before it's over. Could I bear it? Watching her go as I did each year. If her name got called out there'd be nothing either of us could do. We'd be trapped staring from a small blurry screen in one of the orphanage's cramped rooms, hoping her face doesn't appear in the night sky.

I keep walking along the fence, pausing every few moments to check around me and listen for any unusual sounds-you can never be too safe. I look up at the sky and see the sun far above the horizon.

 _We don't have much time left_ , I tell myself.

Despite how much I want this day to be over and my anxiety as to what will happen when it ends, I pick up my pace. I decide to loop around and head back towards the orchid tree where Jackson and Lila will probably be waiting for me.

As I move closer to the side of the fence I smell a foul odor resigning from the ground beneath me. I back away, covering my nose. Peacekeepers sometimes litter a kind of poisonous powder near the edge of the district. Whether it's to keep the animals out of the people inside, I can't tell. Suddenly, another smells enters my nose, one that's much worse than the poison. An awful smell and one I'm all but too familiar with: rotting corpse.

It's probably an animal's.

I move along the edge, surveying the trees. Then I spot it, lying a few feet ahead of me near the edge of the woods. My eyes widen as I'm welcomed to a front-row seat of a brightly-colored orange fox gnawing at a dead deer's remains.

I stop in my tracks and stare intently. I watch its teeth rip away the flesh. Then I spot it's head turn towards me, staring me down. I sense something menacing in its eyes. It almost looks as though it's smiling at me with its tongue flailing out and blood dripping down its teeth. I immediately back away and turn around. I head back towards the tree, certain that clearing my thoughts is no longer a possibility.


	2. The Reaping

We climb back out from the farm, clearing the fence and heading back onto the gravel road. We try our best to hurry, hoping we don't come back too late. I'm sure Abatha would never let us hear the end of it.

We arrive at the orphanage, pushing the metal gate aside and entering through one of the smaller doors leading in from the side of the building.

We reach the intersecting halls and once again I'm left with Lila. We walk down to our room and I start to feel her grip tighten as we approach the end of the hall. I try my best to remain calm and hope she doesn't hear the heavy beating of my heart.

I quickly wash my face and put on my dress. It's a plain gray one that's got tears all over it. By this point I'm beyond caring. Being from the orphanage the only dresses they can spare are those that have been donated by wealthier families-with is extremely rare. But mainly we're given those that belonged to reaped tributes, most of whom have never come back.

I let Lila braid my hair and place Jackson's rose neatly beside my ear. It feels like an eternity just sitting there in the bed with Lila by my side. Neither of us utters a word. Eventually we hear Abatha's voice signalling for me to head down. I give Lila one last hug-longer than I ever have before-and head downstairs.

I enter the hall and line up at the end of the line of girls. Most are talking silently amongst themselves. I guess I'll admit I've never really befriended any of them, albeit, I never really tried to. Usually, I just ignore them when I pass one of them in the halls. It's a mutual thing, they don't bother to notice me either. Unfortunately, I can't spend as much time with Jackson as I do when we're out, they like to keep each gender separate for some reason.

Eventually, when everyone has arrived, we're shepherded outside by Abatha with the boys following close behind. As we walk I find myself staring up. The clear morning sky has vanished, leaving behind dark gray clouds covering the sun entirely. It looks at though it might even rain. _Great, now I'll be nervous and drenched,_ I say, biting my lip.

Finally, we arrive at the square with the large Justice Building looming in the center. I spot several of what I assume to be cameras hoisted on the roof. We're the last ones to arrive, as usual. A woman takes a sample of my blood and I head to join the group of other seventeen-year-old girls, each of whom are as tense as I am.

The place is almost entirely packed, with the youngest kids in the front and the oldest in the back. I scout out the rest of the Square until I find Jackson who's just entering. He spots me too and gives me a reassuring nod as he's herded with the other eighteen-year-old boys. I catch him mouth something, but from this distance I can't really tell what he's saying.

I turn back to face the stage. On it stand three chairs and two massive glass bowls. I find myself staring intently at the girls' ball that's filled with thousands of slits. I start to panic because I know that thirty of them contain my name, yet it's still better than the forty-six containing Jackson's. But this obviously doesn't make me feel any better, though.

Right when the clock strikes two the mayor steps up to the podium and reads the same story that's told every year, the one about the war and why the Games were introduced in the first place. Unfortunately, I'm too anxious right now to muster up a yawn.

After his speech is concluded the mayor then reads out the list of past District Nine victors. In eighty-eight years, we've had only four. Three are currently dead and the only one still alive is a young man in his twenties named Avain Leander. He's sturdily built, with short brown hair and a large scar running down his face. He can't walk very well due to his prosthetic foot, but he still manages to stand up and give a small wave to the cameras. I fondly remember his Games, he won a couple years back. That was the year we didn't need to steal. The extra food made our lives so much easier. It didn't last long however, nothing here really does.

Next, the mayor introduces a Capitol women dressed in a bright-blue outfit and large heels to the stage. I think her name is Blossom Belemieux or something ridiculous like that. I'll give her some credit, she's one of the few Capitol announcers who doesn't that obnoxious accent. But that still still doesn't justify that hideous sparkling blue hair.

I hear her shuffling her way towards the microphone, those heels rattling the ground as she approaches. Despite Blossom, everyone in the Square is so silent you could hear a pin drop. She clears her throat and I brace myself to hear the most dreaded words spoken out loud all year.

"Welcome, welcome. Well, it's finally time to find out which of two will have the honour of representing District Nine in the eighty-eighth annual Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour. As always, ladies first." She slowly makes her way towards the giant glass bowl to pull out a slip.

I find myself not able to breathe and for a second I actually think I'm choking. I see her reach into the bowl with her pale white hands and pull out a small slip of paper. I'm suddenly startled by the sound of clouds rumbling above. I even feel a few raindrops land on my skin, sending shivers down my spine, yet no one but me appears to notice.

Right as I come back to my senses I hear the name being called out, "Marisole Zinnia," and I feel like I've just been punched in the stomach.

The words echo around the square, ringing loudly in my ears. Suddenly, I realise it's my name and I stand there not in shock, but in a state of disbelief, as if there's been some kind of mistake. I'm stuck pondering at the unbearably strange reality of hearing your own name called out. You spend your whole year convincing yourself that you won't be chosen, that the odds are so low. Then you hear it and your whole perception of reality comes crashing down. And boy does it hit you because my name was called out and now I'm as dead as that deer I had seen this morning.

I swallow hard and wipe the rain off my face before I walk up. I realise only halfway to the stage that I'm not fully in control of my body. I pass through the crowd of girls and stare forwards as they make way. None of them meet my gaze.

I finally make my way to the top of the staircase and Blossom gestures me to stand to her side. I stare blankly into the crowd and now I really begin to feel scared. I can hear hushed whispers throughout the Square certainly wondering who I am and how it is I'm probably going to die. I start to feel the rain getting heavier, soaking my dress and undergarments. I know that Blossom is saying something, but my ears will no longer let me listen. I simply let my mind tune out the world around me, trying my best not to look afraid because my heart is pounding harder than it ever has before. I can't let others see me as weak-and by others, I mean the other tributes I'll have the wonderful opportunity of fighting to the death with in less than a few weeks.

Before I know it, I hear Blossom call out for the boys. I instantly scan the crowd for Jackson, hoping his face will offer me some comfort. Unfortunately, virtually every boy in District 9 has brown hair.

 _So, good luck with that_ , I tell myself.

I see her head to pull out a name. I can't help but wish it were his. Yes, I know it's selfish, but I'd do almost anything to have him beside me right now.

I think back to when we had first met. I was seven and I still hadn't met Lila yet. It was the middle of winter and most of us just stayed inside to avoid the cold. Abatha had told me to go fetch some blankets in the basement since there's no heating in the orphanage. It was one of those days that were unbearably cold, to the point where you hands couldn't stop shaking no matter how much you tried to warm them up. We all had jobs to do, whether it involved making beds, preparing meals, or scrubbing the floors. I sort of did whatever task Abatha assigned me to do, which definitely beat cleaning the washrooms.

As I made my way downstairs I lit a candle for some light and to my surprise, sitting on top of a cupboard, was a boy a little older than me, staring out of a small window barely above the ground. His head jolted as he turned towards me and I swear it almost gave me a heart attack.

"Geez, you can't sneak up on people like that!" he exclaimed.

"Oh sorry, I didn't expect anyone to be here," I said, putting the candle aside. His brown hair was uncombed and I couldn't help but stare at his eyes. They had this dark-brown shade that made him look much older than he actually was. I recognized him. I had seen him walking down the halls with his friends, but we had never spoken before.

"I didn't think anyone would come down here," he said. He stood up from the cupboard and placed his shivering hands in his pockets.

"I was just here to grab some blankets. I can come back if you want," I said, and turned to make my way out, avoiding any eye contact.

"Wait, you don't have to leave. If you need something, go ahead. I was just leaving myself." I stopped at his words and turned back to face him, giving him a small nod. I made my way past him and reached into an old drawer to pull out the blankets.

"So what are you doing down here?" I asked, hoping it didn't come off as too pesky.

He remained silent for a moment. "Huh, I-ah, I don't know." He turned back to the window. "I guess I was just...thinking."

"Thinking? I see..." To be totally honest, I wasn't really in the mood to start a conversation, especially since my feet were on the verge of frostbite. But, I could tell he needed someone to talk to.

I grabbed the blankets and hoisted them into my hands.

"I know you," he remarked as we made eye contact again. "I've seen you in the halls. I'm Jackson," he let out his hand.

"Marisole," I replied, of course the blankets made it hard to shake his hand.

"Oh, wait. Let me help you with those," he noticed I was struggling and went to grab most of the blankets from my hands. "Marisole, huh? Mind if I call you Maris or something?"

"Yes, I do."

"Okay, Marisole it is then." There was this strong charisma in his voice, he was clearly much better at small-talk than I was. "So you're Abatha's little helper, right? Must be fun," he didn't even bother to hide his sarcasm.

"Beats cleaning toilets."

"Yeah, I guess so," he smiled at me and I sort of smiled awkwardly back.

"So, why are you here?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Right, that. Like I said, I just needed some place to think. It's pretty noisy up there if you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, I have." That was one of the biggest reasons I bothered to come down here in the first place. I tried to get a better hold on the blankets in my hands while I talked. He could see that they were too heavy for me so he just grabbed the rest in his arms.

"I could of held it on my own thanks," I said defensively. He simply raised an eyebrow and that shut me up. I guess they were slightly heavy. "So, what were you thinking about?" I asked again.

"I doesn't really matter. I just needed to clear my head. Can't ever be alone, can you?" _Tell me about it._

"I better get going," I said.

"Well I might as well help you with these, I'm sure Abatha will be wondering where you are."

"Thanks," I replied, grabbing a few of the blankets from him that he seemed keen on carrying for me. We each took our own share and headed out together.

Ever since then he'd go out of his way to talk to me every chance he got. Initially, I tried to avoid him; I'm not much of a talker if you haven't noticed. But he was tenacious, and it sort of grew on me. He'd ask me more questions about myself, I'd eventually learn more about him. We grew close. We then got jobs working together in the farms, keeping the animals out. We started stealing...

Then I think back to the way he smiles at me whenever he sees me. The look he has in his eyes. I think back to all those years he'd go out of his way to get me a special birthday present. How he'd always make me laugh, even on a day like today. How my heart always beats faster when I see his tall figure walking up to me. Yes, I'll admit it. I guess we do have something for each other. I mean, I wouldn't go as far as to say I love him, or would I? Besides, he's practically my only friend along with Lila. Unless you count Abatha, but I don't really think those eyes ever signalled friendliness.

Regardless of how much I want to gave him here with me right now, I'd obviously rather he isn't. Odds are neither of us will make it out alive and I can't leave Lila alone to starve.

That's when my mind reverts back to reality. I had almost forgotten where I was: on a stage, my name reaped, facing certain death.

I glance back to Blossom as she makes her way to the other glass ball. I watch her reach in and grab a slit. She carefully opens it and slowly reads out the name.

"Lynne Iovis."

I let out an internal sigh of relief. I look towards the edge of the crowd of people and spot a blond-haired boy make his way past the group of eighteen-year-olds. I know him. Not personally, but when you're one of the few people in the entire district with blonde hair you don't exactly blend in with the crowd. You also can't deny the fact that he's probably wearing the most expensive clothes in the whole Square. Heck, I would too if _my_ father was the owner of one of the biggest sugar farms here. Not all of us live in poverty. There's an elite few that have the privilege of living in nice, clean houses. I hear they've even got running water. Regardless, they're still citizens of the district, and they-like all others-still have their names placed in the Reaping. Although their chances of getting picked are slim compared to someone like me, it's not impossible. I can't help but feel slightly better. It's been a long time since a tribute's been reaped who's never been on tesserae before.

I watch him walk up and I notice that I'm not the only one who's surprised to have heard his name called out.

He makes his way up the stage and I can't help but admire his steady and emotionless face, you'd expected someone like him to have burst into tears by now. He must have already begun playing the game...

He looks to me with his green eyes, but I turn away. It's hard to look at him, knowing that I'll probably have to kill him at some point. But there'll be twenty-four of us, odds are someone else will beat me to it.

"Do we have any volunteers?" she asks redundantly. A stiff silence is her response. "What a fine pair of tributes this year. Well, shake hands you two."

I shake his hand and once again spot his green eyes staring directly at me. He smiles and this time I smile right back because two can play at this game.

Before I can try to find Jackson's face in the crowd, a Peacekeepers directs us inside. As I enter, I just have enough time to look back up at the sky. Right before the doors close I catch a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds and blinding my vision entirely.

I'm escorted into a very well decorated room. I sit down on a chair-the material of which comes far from that of my dress. I hear the wooden door shut and I'm left alone. I sit motionless, my heart still beating ferociously and forcing myself not to cry. I can't cry, not now. Not with all those cameras that'll be pinned on me the second I leave this room. I try to imagine how many other tributes must of sat in this exact spot. The same thoughts racing through their heads, the same tantalizing thought of death at their fingertips. Some have tried to escape. I think back to when a girl tried to jump off the stage and make a run for it. She didn't get past the first row of kids. Besides, the Capitol just takes it out on you in the Games. I remember the awful hungry wolves they sent in to kill her on the first night. It's safe to say that the only thing left of her was her blood...on the side of a tree. Some also try to end it, make it quick. A few succeeded at that, but it's not too hard to replace them, especially at this stage. All I know is that I'm too afraid to do either.

I place my hands onto my dress, since that's the only real place to put them without feeling uncomfortable. I expect dampness, yet I'm met with a dry surface.

 _Huh, I guess the rain was only my imagination._ I must be going mad. Well, who wouldn't be in my current situation?

I run my hands through my hair, trying to undo the braids that Lila had made for me this morning. My hands stumble upon the flower planted in my hair. _The rose!_ I had completely forgotten that I had left it in there. I gently pull it out and hold in by the stem, carefully avoiding the thorns. I take a moment to smell it, but I'm immediately reminded of the fox I had seen this morning. The thick, red blood; the same color as the rose. I quickly toss it onto the table beside me without looking. I wonder if that was also part of my imagination?

My thoughts dissipate at the sound of footsteps coming from outside the room. The sound of the door makes me jump. To my relief, I find Jackson and Lila emerge. Lila runs towards me and I hug her as hard as I can. She buries her face deep in my chest.

"Lila, I'm sorry, okay. I'm so sorry," I don't really know what else to say. Her worst nightmare had come to pass.

"Just promise me you'll try, okay. Promise." Just the sound of her voice makes me want to burst into tears, but I clench my jaw.

"I will, I promise," I whisper. Although I know my odds of ever returning are virtually non-existent. I can see Lila's about to cry and I know that if she starts then I will too. "Don't start crying, please." But it's too late, tears are already streaming down her face and she can't speak, neither of us can.

Jackson crouches down and puts his arms around her. He then turns to me with a seriousness I've never seen before.

"Listen to me. You do stand a chance, I know it. Remember the training they gave us, it wasn't much, but it was something. It's more than most." He's partially right. Like I said, they let us use weapons on the farms to keep the animals out. And yes, I did get to use a bow, but only a few times. On top of that, the bows were poorly crafted; most couldn't shoot more than a few yards. I mean, yes, I could hit a target, as long as it isn't too far away. "Just get to a bow or a knife and go from there." I think back to a few years ago when the Cornucopia didn't have any weapons at all. The tributes were forced to strangle each other to death with their own bare hands.

Jackson then grabs ahold of my hand, squeezing it tightly in his own. "I'm not just saying this to make you feel better, you _do_ stand a chance, I know it-"

"Jackson, it's not that easy. Some of them have been training for years." Now I'm thinking of the Career Tributes. The ones from the wealthier district like 1, 2 and 4. The ones who have been training their whole lives for this, and they're no pushovers because the past five victors have all been Careers.

"So have you. I know it's not much, but it is something. Some of them will have to bet on you," he says.

His words still don't offer me any comfort. Sponsorships are rare for tributes outside of the Career pack, and I know my uncombed hair won't be winning me any points for good looks.

I find myself shaking my head in disbelief. "Jackson, just look after her alright." I look to Lila who's standing silently in the corner, trying to wipe the tears off of her face.

"Don't, okay! Don't say that. Hey, look at me." We're both transfixed into each other's eyes. "There's only gonna be one victor and it's gonna be you." He leans in to hug me and for a solitary moment I feel safe in his arms. He then whispers into my ear. "Marisole, I love you." He kisses me and I really can't help but shed a tear. It's my first kiss, and of course it had to be on the worst day of my like.

Just then a guard comes in to take them away. The last thing I hear are Lila's faint screams calling out for my name and the door closing once again, leaving me alone once again and more miserable than I've been all day-which must of reached some kind of record by now. That safety I felt in Jackson's arms is gone and I find myself biting my nails until they're all chewed off.

Eventually, someone else opens the door, and for the first time in my life I'm relieved to see Abatha walk in. She's pretty much the only other person I'd want to see right now. Yes, she can be hard on me sometimes, even downright unfair, but I've always known that she's cared about me. Jackson would always say I was crazy for actually liking her, but she's always been looking out for me and making sure I don't get into too much trouble. Well, that's certainly been botched, I can't get into any more trouble than I'm in right now.

She takes a seat beside me on chair to my right, knowing that our time is scarce. I see her reach into a small bag and pull out a golden necklace with a circular locket. I can't help but admire its beauty. It must be worth a fortune.

"I want you to have this," she says, tying the chain around my neck. I'm mesmerized by its gleam. I've never seen anything this expensive before. My enthrall turns into confusion, _where did she get this?_

She opens the locket to reveal a picture of a young girl, I'd say around my age. It's hard to clearly make out the picture, but it's hard not to make out her beautiful brown eyes. Not like mine, but they have the same shape. I do recognize the brown hair, it's practically identical to my own. I already know who it is before Abatha has a chance to say it herself.

"That's my mother, isn't it?" I say.

Abatha nods and glances down at the picture. "She was eighteen in this photo."

I've never seen a photo of one of my parents before. I was told they were farmers, and like all farmers in this district, they barely had enough money to feed themselves, let alone pay for something like a photograph.

I'm stuck staring at her. There's an odd familiarity that I can't seem to shake off as though I've met this person before, but I know it's impossible. It must be my mind playing tricks on me again.

My confusion doesn't wither, however. I'm still wondering how she acquired this locket. Did my mother give it to her? Why did she give it to her? Had Abatha known my mother? She never mentioned it, but now I know that she must have. There's no other explanation.

Abatha closes the locket and adjusts it on my neck. "She'd want you to have this-" she can't speak for a moment and I can tell this is as hard for her as it is for me. "I-I was waiting to give you it until you were a little older, but… no point in waiting anymore, right?" I know she's trying her hardest to keep it together. "You can be just like your mother sometimes, you know that," she lets out a little laugh and I do too because it's the only way either of us can cope. She then brushes the hair out of my eyes and gazes into the locket.

I want to ask her a million questions, but my thoughts are all jumbled together. I want to know more about my mother, but I can only manage to let out a few words. "Oh, Abatha. Thank you."

She gently pinches my cheek the way she used to do when I was younger and we hug to savour this last moment together, allowing another eternity to pass until she's escorted out by another guard. Now I'm stuck thinking about my parents and Abatha's connection to them. About why had she waited to so long to tell me about them. These though simmer down though, I still haven't forgotten where I am.

I begin to fiddle around with the locket around my neck. I'm afraid of being on my own now. I feel more terrified than I've ever felt before. It's the kind of fear that makes your stomach drop like a bag of rocks and has you constantly reminding yourself to breathe, and on top of that I'm dealing with so many conflicting emotions right now that I want to scream and cry all at the same time.

I urge myself to wipe these emotions off my face, despite how hard it seems. In a few minutes I'll be escorted into a car that'll take us to the train station, then off we go to the Capitol to be prepped and groomed for the Games. I know that on my way there they'll be even more cameras than before. All of Panem will be watching and I need to look strong. I need people to think I'll be a good bet, one that doesn't cry or hesitate at the sight of death. That can't be too hard. I mean that's practically been my whole life.

We leave the building and enter a car with blacked-out windows that takes us directly to the station. It's a short ride, District 9 isn't very big.

I notice Lynne beside me carrying the same expressionless face as I am. I wonder how he'll survive in the arena. He's never gone hungry before. He's never worked on the farms. He's never been given the chance to train or kill. Odds are he probably won't last very long (not that our tributes last long anyways), but something tells me he's hiding whatever strategy he's got. Besides, am I really in any position to be judging who will live or die?its not district 9 is known for having its tributes make it very far in the Games.

Neither of us bother talking to each other on the ride there. Instead, we each just stare silently out of our windows while we each take in the last we'll probably ever see of our district.

Once we arrive and exit the car, we're immediately swarmed by tons of reporters and cameras, each trying to get a good look at our faces. I keep my head down and follow Blossom inside the train. The door automatically closes, which fascinates me since electricity is a luxury most aren't afforded to. Like I said, it's mostly spared for Peacekeepers or for the Harvest. The only other time it's on is during the Games, so we can all watch in the comfort of our own homes. But apart from that you'd be lucky to see a street lamp flicker on at night.

The train starts moving the moment we enter and we head off towards the Capitol at full speed, leaving District 9 as nothing more than a blur in its wake.


	3. The Train

Upon entering Blossom nimbly directs us each into our own compartments. We're both given our own rooms, and It's not until I'm escorted into mine that I agnise how expensive and jaw-dropping everything looks. Forget about the Justice Building, this is what you'd call luxury. My room is at least twice the size of my one in the orphanage: I have my own large bed, a wide-screened window, and a closet filled with more outfits than I've worn in my entire life.

I go to lie on my bed, basking in the beautifully comfortable silk sheets and resting my head gently on the plush purple pillows. I run my hands up and down the sheets and then stare out the window to my right. Now would be the perfect time to cry if I want to. This train might be fast, but it'll still take about a day until we reach the Capitol. I don't, however. I'm so lost in the extravagance of this room, almost as if I've left all my concerns back in District 9, which really doesn't seem to make any sense.

I decide it best to head to the washroom-one that I don't have to share with ten other girls for the first time in my life-and strip down to take a long warm shower. I've honestly never had a shower before. I mean obviously we clean ourselves, but it's usually out of a large bucket and you have to actually pour the water over yourself. I've certainly never bathed with hot running water and an array of endless shampoos at my disposal.

I step in and turn on the faucet. I hadn't realised the amount of grime and dirt that's been piled up on my skin over all these years. I vigorously scrub myself clean until all that's left is brown water trickling beneath my feet and I step out. I then proceed to choose which clothes to wear. I'm more than happy to get out of the awful teared-up dress I was in during the Reaping. I pick out a simple blue tunic and some black pants. I don't want to feel too different. Besides, pants make me feel much more comfortable anyhow.

For the next few moments, I alternate between drying my hair and staring out of the window-for some reason I can't find myself doing both at the same time. I watch the trees go by as the train zooms past at an unbelievable speed. I find it unbearable to think about anything: about Lila or Jackson, about arriving in the Capitol. I just glare out of the window, letting the forest outside encompass my thoughts.

It isn't until I hear a knock on my door from Blossom calling me to supper that I come back to my senses. I leave the room and once again gawk at the automatic door that opens as I walk through.

 _Stop acting stupid, Marisole_. Ordering myself not to act childish anymore.

I stroll down a narrow hall with various doors on the sides and observe the small chandeliers above swinging silently from the movement of the train.

Eventually, I enter the dining room and find Blossom and Lynne sitting down on a large wooden table with a surplus of food. I take a seat beside Lynne as an attendant pours a pink coloured drink into my cup. I know I promised myself to act reserved, but it's all really too much to take in at once. I'm completely overwhelmed at all the food placed before me. From the large roasted pig in the center, to the hot lamb stew beside me. My stomach can't seem to decide which to stuff myself with first. I become conscious that my eyes must look like boulders because I notice Blossom and Lynne staring at me right as I'm about to take a large bite out of a slice of roast pig.

They must be so used to this-having to never worry about whether or not they'd go hungry, having entire entrees put before them each day. Even though Lynne's from the same place as I am, he must be much more accustomed to this high-class lifestyle, what with his dad's wealth and all. You should see the house he lives in, he's practically neighbors with the Peacekeepers. In their eyes, I must look like some sort of starving, savage animal. But who can blame me? Let's see one of them try living in a torn-down building with never enough to eat. I find this annoys me somewhat so I decide to stuff the entire piece of meat in my mouth and swallow it in one whole bite. I see Blossom turn away, but Lynne's gaze stays focused on me.

"They don't give you much to eat in the orphanage, do they?" he asks, stating the obvious. I'm kind of thrown off by this because, frankly, I'm surprised he even knew I lived in the orphanage.

I glance down at his clothes. He still didn't change them, but I don't see that he'd really need to. "Well, we don't wear suits and fancy watches, if that's what you mean."

"Look, I wasn't trying to make fun of you," says Lynne.

"Then just close your eyes when I'm eating, all right?" I expect him to get worked up, but all he does is go back to eating his food, appearing slightly amused at my behavior. Well, I definitely wasn't trying to be funny.

"Someone's got quite the attitude," says Blossom, taking a sip from her glass of what I assume to be white wine.

"Sorry," I say, using the same tone when speaking to Abatha so that she won't get angry. "This is all a little strange to me"

Blossom lets out a snort. "If you think this is strange wait 'till you get to the Capitol. I know this sounds silly, but even I think it's all a little too much sometimes," she starts twirling the glass in her hands. "This is at least taking it to some sort of moderation."

Well I don't know about moderation, but it's still not what I expected to hear from someone like her.

"Moderation is key, that's what I always say." I hear the voice coming from the other end of the room. Avain is there, leaning on the side of the wall and observing us silently. It's the first time I notice his bright blue eyes, which sort of bear a slight resemblance to my own.

He walks towards us, slightly wobbling as he approaches. You'd think by now he'd figure out how to walk properly with that thing.

He takes a seat beside Blossom and picks out a small pastry from one of the trays.

"So this is what I've got to work with this year." He begins examining us, looking at Lynne and then at me. "Not too bad."

"Aren't you going to tell us what our strategies should be?" I ask.

He points his finger at me. "There, I love it. Persistence. It displays strength, but-ah, save it for the interviews."

"I'm not persistent." I refute.

"Slightly deluded, too. You should work on that, it might just get you killed."

"So when are you gonna tell us something useful?" I ask, growing ever more impatient.

"Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. Let's take this one step at a time. Focus on enjoying the food first, we'll get to it." He grabs another pastry and plucks it in his mouth. "But who knows, learning to be a little patient might end up saving your life."

"Or make you lose it," I hear Lynne say under his breath, although Avain didn't seem to catch it.

"How 'bout we start by getting to know each other first, what d'you say?" says Blossom, clasping her hands together.

My mind is too stuck on staring at Avain's scar to really care about answering her question. Everyone is District 9 knows about his Games. We're not used to having victors very often. I still remember the sword that caused it. It must have gone so deep that not even the doctors could fix it. I remember that it was down to him and a boy from District 2. His face was covered in blood and the other boy was missing most of his fingers. Then I remember Avain crawling away in the sand, hoping to reach an axe a few feet in front of him, but not before the boy from 2 managed to chop off his foot… I shake the memory from my head.

Instead of continuing the argument, I alternate between gobbling up the rest of the food on my plate and sipping the belch-inducing pink drink from my glass as Lynne and Blossom converse about life in District 9. Really, I'm in no mood to talk about home, mostly because I find it unbearable to think about those I love. Plus, I'd also hate to trample over their parade with stories of rotting garbage and dead bodies.

"Yeah, my dad used to take me on walks to see the sugarcanes. You could just taste the sweetness in the air," explains Lynne.

"It's so fascinating, I've never seen any of the farms," says Blossom, completely absorbed by Lynne's recount. _Yeah, I bet you haven't_.

"I mean it's small, but it's got its own little charm, you know," continues Lynne. Oh, I'm sure he knows all about what life there is really like. I keep wanting to blurt out obscenities, but I know that Blossom would think it's inappropriate. Instead, I find that the only way I can remain at the table is by repetitively stabbing my knife into my steak.

"You ought to see it during the summer time," insists Lynne, putting Blossom at the edge of her seat.

"Do tell."

He lets out a loud sigh of awe, but it's enough to get her to intrigued beyond her wits.

My mind is focused on admiring the amount of incisions I've managed to embed into my steak when Blossom grabs ahold of my wrist, shaking me to my senses.

"C'mon, Marisole. You've seen the farms, right? I promised some friends I'd tell them all about it. And now that I've got you two story-tellers..." urges Blossom. She must be confusing me with Lynne because I have been the exact opposite of conversive, but maybe she doesn't bother to acknowledge that we're two seperate people.

"Well-" I'm at a loss for words. I know I can't tell the truth. I then spot Avain. He's been quieter than me, simply staring down at his plate and quietly finishing the rest of his food. I bet he knows what District 9 is really like. I think he lived near the Sheds growing up, but my memory is a little foggy. "-Breathtaking, really. When we're not working we'll go up to the top of a hill and just watch."

"What kind of work?" asks Lynne, who seems genuinely interested.

Once again I have to be prudent in my choice of words. "Mainly keeping the animals out. Plowing if they need extra hands," I venture.

"Keeping the animals out?" he asks, as if surprised people did that. I also notice Blossom's eyes widen in dismay.

"Well… I mean, it's safe. They don't get too close," It's as far from safe as you can imagine and they always come too close.

"They let you weapons, don't they?" asks Avain, who's apparently begun listening in.

"Guns, sometimes. Bows and spears for the most part." I reply, sort of the spot.

He lets out something in between a laugh and a snort. "You any good?"

I look at him with complete puzzlement, as if he's said something ridiculous.

"Well there won't be any guns in the arena. So?" he inquires.

"Bows, but they don't shoot very far," I stammer.

He chuckles "Better than nothing. Better than anyone I've had yet," he says.

I'm sort of taken aback by his comment, but Im actually hoping it makes Lynne jealous. Either way, Avain and I have apparently taken over the entire conversation, because both Blossom and Lynne are silent. It's not like the two of them can add anything, apart from how scenic everything is. I'm also positive Lynne's never picked up a bow to save his life. I'm actually kind of glad because I hope it makes him jealous, knowing that I'll have a significant edge over him in the arena.

An abysmal silence fills the dining room with an air of uncomfort. Thankfully, Blossom suggests we all head into another compartment to watch a recap of the Reapings.

I'll admit I'm both eager, yet daunted to get a good-look at my competition. People in the Capitol will be watching it live, unlike those living in the districts who actually have to attend the Reapings in person and won't be seeing it until later in the afternoon.

The recap begins with District 1 and works its way up until District 12 at the end, showing the female tribute first and then the male. I prepare myself to meet my adversaries, though I'm thrown off by the sheer number of faces I see flicker on the screen. It's no real surprise that both the tributes from 1 and 2 are volunteers, and in addition, they also look incredibly athletic and well-fed. As I said, they've been training for the Games for years in a special academy. In addition, their districts are also far better off than the rest of us, with food never really being an issue for them.

I hear Blossom remark how the menacing-looking girl from 2 has a brother who won three years ago and that it's no wonder she'll be going in as well. Siblings of victors are often purposely reaped as a way of spicing up the betting in the Capitol. There's quite a long list of sibling victors, sometimes winning back-to-back Games in the process.

The next few districts pass and no one particularly catches my eye. But the longer I watch, the thinner and scrawnier the tributes seem to get. It isn't until a fifteen-year-old girl from 7 lunges forwards to volunteer that even the commentators being to get slightly more captivated. District 7 has a good reputation for producing strong tributes; most spend their whole lives swinging axes and climbing trees. They're not as massive or arrogant as those from 1 and 2, but still worth watching out for.

Finally, District 9 comes up on the screen. Lynne and I are shown and I confirm that the rain was only an illusion. I also can't help but grovel at seeing myself on-screen, as if I'm watching someone else. Meanwhile, as we're sitting, attendants constantly refill our glasses and offer us an endless supply of deserts. Unfortunately I'm terrible at refusing, so by the end of it I'm so full I can hardly move. It's almost like they want me to vomit.

Eventually the recap concludes with the national anthem and we're left staring at a black screen.

"You two don't look half bad," points out Avain. He's right, at least compared to some that came after us. The ones from 12, for example, had eyes so hollow you could tell just by looking at them that they probably haven't eaten in days. "I want you both to get a good night's rest. We'll arrive in the Capitol by morning and I need you two to look presentable."

We each follow his instructions and head separately to our rooms.

I don't bother changing my clothes, and instead, curl up in the sheets with the window in my view. In spite of the comfort, it's agonizingly hard to fall asleep. My mind drifts between thoughts of tomorrow and of being back in the orphanage. We'll spend a week in the Capitol, getting dressed and groomed by our stylists until we're eventually thrown into the arena. Back in District 9, most will be enjoying a pleasant sleep, knowing that they'll be safe for another year. I'd be in bed with Lila by now and Abatha would probably come in and check on us to see if we're sleeping.

I wonder how she must be doing? What it must be like to go to bed all alone in that empty room? I remember when I was all alone in there-after the death of my roommate. It's a silence that keeps you up all night, longing for any sort of companionship. Perhaps Abatha will let Jackson join her tonight incase she can't fall asleep on her own, although I doubt it since it's against the rules.

After a while of rolling around in my bed I fixate on an image of Lila and Jackson sitting on the log next to the orchid tree. It's the only thing that calms me down. The last thing I see is Jackson holding the rose in his hands and I fall asleep.

I wake up with no recollection of my dreams, but I'm sweating profusely nonetheless. I look out the window and spot the mountains surrounding the Capitol across the horizon. Fortunately it's still early, meaning that I'll have some time to prepare myself before more cameras are shoved in my face.

I get up and head to the mirror. Even with the shower I had yesterday, my hair is still a mess. I try my best to untangle the knots without yanking too much out. I stare at my face, brushing my eyebrows with my fingers until they're smooth. Personally, I've never taken an interest in maintaining my appearance, at least not like some girls back home. Frankly, most of my time has been occupied in the acquisition of food, and it never seemed to bother Jackson. But Avain's right, if I want to get sponsors I have to look appealing-or at least try. I attempt to let my hair dangle off the side of my shoulder, but I just get frustrated and hope that no one notices my chewed-off nails.

I make my way out of the compartment and arrive again at the dining room. Right as I'm about to approach the door, I catch Lynne's voice coming from inside. I stop in my tracks, glad I haven't tripped the automatic door.

"So a knife would be my best option."

"Assuming of course that you're still alive, but yes," the other voice belongs to none other than Avain.

Well, it appears that my mentor and district partner at talking about strategies, and they seem to have neglected to include me! The voices get more muffled so I carefully approach the door, but I accidentally lean in too close and it slides open, revealing the both of them sitting opposite each other.

Silence envelops the room as I walk in to take a seat near the window nonchalantly, hoping neither of them realise I've been eavesdropping on them.

"Good morning," I say, smiling fictitiously.

They both remain quiet.

"What were you two talking about?" I ask. It's clear that they're going behind my back, and it's so disheartening it's like they're piercing that knife into my flesh. I bet they planned this last night when I was already in bed. They must have purposely woken up early so as to not alert me, knowing I'd be fast asleep and clueless when I wake up.

"Nothing," replies Avain.

" _Nothing_?" I ask ironically. I can feel the anger brewing inside of me and I'm slightly alarmed at how I'll react because ever since I've set foot on this train my emotions have been increasingly more sporadic.

"He was just giving me some advice," answers Lynne, trying to calm me down. This was his plan for sure. What with last night's dinner conversation and my skill exposed, he must've gotten jealous and done this as a way of staying ahead. At least he has the guts to be honest about it. I expected this from Lynne, but I sure didn't expect it from our mentor who's presumably supposed to be helping the both of us.

"Oh, but when I asked for some yesterday he told me to stuff myself," I retort. I'm mainly yelling at Avain. He clearly seems keen of favoring Lynne over me.

Avain, however, seems unscathed by my yelling, almost like he's used to it. "Lynne was here first. It's not his fault you've been sleeping all morning."

"And you couldn't have woken me up? Aren't you supposed to be helping the _both_ of us!" I snap, unable to contain the volume of my voice.

"Marisole, please. It's too early for this. Just spare me the attitude, alright?" I watch him pick up another pastry from the table. He doesn't even have the audacity to look me in the eye, especially when it's my life that's on the line.

"Come on, Marisole. I'm sorry we didn't wake you, but you don't have to get all worked up," says Lynne.

"I'm _not_ getting worked up," I say defensively. Now I'm angry at the both of them. I've never felt so left out, betrayed. Before either of them can say anything else, I storm out as fast as possible.

I spot Blossom come out from her room, probably woken by all the noise.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asks. Although I do spot some guanine concerned in her words, I ignore her and she makes way for me to pass.

Finally I reach my room and go to lie down on my bed, pulling the sheets up over my head. Now I'm crying, bursting into tears, in fact. It's only when I'm in bed that I consider the possibility that I might have overreacted.

Even if they were going behind me back, my reaction was far too sensitive. I should have been more calculated. Maybe even joked around first, then have found a way to get back at them. I feel ashamed, embarrassed. Mainly, because I've proven to everyone on this train that I have the demeanor of a twelve-year-old. My one advantage of being perceived as tough has vanished and all my credibility with a bow has withered. No matter how hard I try, I can't stop crying because it's baffling to me how every small thing manages to provoke me. Why couldn't I keep it under control?.

Now, I'm crying because I feel homesick. Not because I miss District 9, but because I miss Lila and I want to kiss her goodnight. And I'm crying because I want Jackson to hug me again the way he did in the Justice Building. I wish he were here with me now, he'd know how to make me feel better. But I know that my wish is futile. Yet, here I am: on a train, sobbing and clenching my pillow like there's no tomorrow, and right when we're about to reach the Capitol. _Great going, Marisole._

I guess it's not just my mind that's faltering, but it's my emotions as well. I can't help it though. I really don't know how I'm going to make it through this week. I'd rather just get it over with, skip this whole build-up. Although maybe I wouldn't. Honestly, I don't really know what I want anymore.

I lie on my bed weeping until I hear a faint knock on my door.

"It's open," I say coarsely, pulling the sheets off of my head. I quickly wipe tears off my face and try my best to compose myself.

The door opens and Lynne is standing in front of it. "Can I come in?"

I'm initially skeptical. I can't tell what his motives might be. Maybe hoping to rub my naivete in my face, but somehow that seems unlikely. Who knows, he might simply be trying to apologize.

I eventually nod my head and he takes a seat beside me on my bed.

"You know we've never formally met," he says. I apprehensively shake his outstretched arm and spot a silver ring on his left hand that I assume must be his token.

We sit there in an awkward silence. Neither of us knows what to say. Lynne's supposed to be the talkative one, not me. I guess this is as hard for him as it is for me.

Well it ought to be.

"I'm sorry," says Lynne softly. "For making you think I went behind your back."

 _Think?_ "Didn't you?" I rebut, retaining my voice. I can't let myself get worked up again.

"What, go behind your back? No, of course not." Maybe he's playing innocent, hoping I'd be dumb enough to buy into it. But there's something in the way he's looking at me, almost disheartened I would suggest something like that, that makes me want to believe him.

I become unsure of what I assume to be the truth; that Avain and Lynne planned to go behind my back while I was asleep. Even saying in my head makes it sound far-fetched. I was with Lynne during the entire train ride. The only time he'd be able to plan this out with Avain would be at night after we both went into our rooms, and I distinctly remember seeing Lynne closing his door. Then I remember Avain's calm exposure. He wouldn't have really done this, would he? What would it do for him? And besides, what did I catch them talking about, knives? It sure doesn't sound like a way of gaining an advantage over someone with a bow and arrow.

I realise that I've completely misjudged Lynne's intentions, and worst, I've completely over-reacted. My face begins to burn up in shame.

"Marisole, I don't know what you might think of me, but I would never do that. Neither would Avain," he says. Now I know I have to apologize, even though I'm terrible at apologies.

"I know. Look, I'm sorry for how I acted. It's just that-"

"I know," he says softly. He must know that I'm using the stress of being put into the Games as an excuse. He must also know that it's a bad one, mostly because he's been reaped too and he certaintly hasn't had a break-down yet. Although, it does offer me some comfort.

"If it makes you feel any better, Avain didn't want to start until you showed up," he explains. Granted, I find that hard to believe, but my perception of reality has not been very reliable of late. "I promise you didn't miss much."

"I should probably go apologize to him. I bet he can't stand me though," I say, dreading the thought of it already.

"I'm sure he's used to it."

"I sure hope he is."

We sit there in silence again.

"So, you really keep the animals out?" he asks, breaking the ice.

"Yeah," I say quietly.

"And it's not dangerous?"

I find it pointless to lie again. "It is. Some get killed, but it's not like they care."

He looks to me in pity and I'm thrown off, because now, I see that he's the one who's ashamed.

"At least they taught you to shoot," he finally remarks.

"Yeah, I guess they did." I look away.

Another uncomfortable silence fills the room when suddenly the windows dim as we enter a tunnel leading into the mountains.

"Looks like we're nearing the Capitol. Here, come on. I bet Blossom's got something for your eyes," he says, motioning for us to leave. I can only imagine how puffy and red they must look by now.

As we make our way down the hall I pull at his sleeve. He stops and turns to me. "Thank you," I whisper. He smiles, but I'm still too reserved to smile back.

"Don't forget to smile when we're leaving," he says. Despite his humility, this rubs me the wrong way for some reason. He's helping me even though we're supposed to be enemies. I remind myself where questioning his motives got me. Why can't I just accept that he's being friendly? A voice in the back of my head responds, _because there can only be one winner._ It's true, there can only be one winner and the better we get to know each other the harder it will be to kill him. Who knows? maybe that's exactly what he's hoping for.

We arrive back in the dining room with Avain nowhere to be found. Fortunately, Blossom also notices my reddened eyes and offers to cover it up with some sort of powder. After she's finished, I look in the mirror and see that my eyes appear completely recovered. In fact, she's hidden most of my blemishes in the process too. I guess I might have misjudged her as well..

The train begins to slow down as we emerge from the tunnel. Lynne and I both rush towards the windows, astonished at the view of the Capitol. Surrounded by mountains lies the city, with massive skyscrapers and bustling with people. I actually have to look away because the sight of it begins to hurts my eyes. Everything appears to be glowing in the reflection of the sun. The colors are effervescent in their arrays of pink, to blue, to green; even the water seems artificial.

I spot crowds of people gathered around the station, each shoving their way through to catch a glimpse of this year's tributes. It's deafening, with arms extended every which way. I notice Avain exiting behind us, so I just stare forwards. I'll apologize to him later.

Lynne makes his way out front, he's already waving and smiling. I'll give it to him, he knows what he's doing. He's actually starting to make me jealous. So far he's been nothing but collected, whereas I've been nothing but unstable. For all I know, cheering me up might have been more for his benefit than for mine.

I make my way beside him. It takes all my energy to put on a smile and wave affectionately to the crowd. I don't know what game he's playing, but I won't let myself fall behind.


	4. The Capitol

I've been in the Capitol for all of about three hours and I've already witnessed enough dyed eyebrows and surgically altered cheekbones to last a lifetime. I've yet to see someone who even remotely resembles a human being. They're more like animals; silly-looking from afar, but terrifying up close.

After leaving the train, all the tributes are escorted to the Remake Center-a place where our district-assigned prep teams attempt to reconstruct our appearances, removing all the hair from every inch of our bodies, plucking out our eyebrows until they resembles nice curved lines, trimming our nails to polished oval shapes; oh, how enchanting! Though I gotta say, I'm surprised I even had hair in certain places.

I lie naked on a table in the center of a room, admiring that I can finally spread my toes back and forth. cut out (I know, but I've already been in here for hours and that's sort of been my way of killing time, so bear with me).

They circle me endlessly, my two stylists: Brim, a man with yellow hair-of all else-and snow-like skin and Lusthasia, a women with the same features as a bird-feathers instead of hair and a surgically altered nose that I assume is meant to resemble that of a hawk.

"We're almost done, I promise," says Brim as he yanks out the last patch of my leg hair.

I'm somewhat relieved at the pain, it helps me forget the fact that I'm completely naked in front of two middle-aged strangers.

Lusthasia yanks out another patch from one of my arms. "Isn't it just lifting? You're actually gonna look like a human being now." Well it sure is lifting, but undoubtedly ironic coming from a bird.

"How much longer?" I ask, gritting my teeth as they yank out a strip from my private area.

"Almost there, hon. But I gotta say, you don't look half bad; nice skin, pretty eyes. I'm sure Pryce 'ill make you look stunning," replies Brim after finishing the last of my waxing process.

"Won't that be nice," I say, and it take more strain to say that than anything that's been done to be in the last couple hours.

They then examine my body until their faces are gleaming with absolute gratification, as if preparing me for slaughter is somewhat rejuvenating for them. I've pretty much lost all discretion in covering myself up. They circle me continuously, occasionally plucking a loose hair that they spot which only makes my skin number than it already is.

When they're finally content with their work, they scrub me down with an odd-smelling lotion all over my newly-shaved skin. It stings, but then they wash it off with a lemon-scented soap and I feel like I've just been prepped for dinner, ready to be served. Might as well stuff an apple in my mouth while they're at it.

After they hose me down in freezing cold water, a fan from somewhere beneath the table blows me dry. I run my hands up and down my body. I'll admit I've never had skin this smooth before, but I don't feel like myself. I feel exposed, altered-like they've plucked and hosed away part of my identity.

At least I smell nice.

"I think we're finally done," professes Lusthasia, all jittery.

"Oh, hon. You look absolutely gorgeous. If only you took care of yourself more back in your district," says Brim. It's hard to get angry at them, mostly because I envision that I'm talking to a bunch of infants. They both go to hug me and it takes all my effort not to shove them away.

"If only I had the time. We're just so busy," I say. It's amazingly fun to tease them, and the best part is, they actually believe me. I remind myself how narrow-minded they all are, each and every one of them.

"We outta go get Pryce. You stay there," says Lusthasia glancing over to Brim and they both head out. There's something about their expression that tells me they're sincerely trying to help me. I want to feel sympathetic, but those eyebrows keep goading me to strangle them. And that accent isn't helping either.

I sit alone on the table and stare at the wall of mirrors surrounding me. The best thing to do is to focus on the present, to concentrate on meeting my stylist. If I let my mind drift on what'll happen in a few days, I get goosebumps, massive ones. Plus, my heart starts beating at a considerably unhealthy rate. I remind myself that I'll have all the time in the world to worry about dying once the Games begins.

Itry to stay focused.

I ponder at the name Lusthasia said was going to be my stylist. Pryce. I know the name Pryce-the one who's apparently going to be my stylist-from previous Hunger Games no doubt. I'm pretty sure he's been with District 9 for the past few years now. It's usually how it works, new stylists begin with the "less-desirable" districts and then work their way up. We're fortunate to receive ones that have some experience before reaching us. That's commonly why those from 10, 11, and 12 have the least dazzling costumes. It's our stylist's job to plan out all of our outfits until the Games begin.

Eventually, the door opens and a middle-aged man appears. He's not as terrifying as my prep team, but still has dyed white eyebrows and hair, although it practically shines in contrast to his darkened skin. His most alarming features are his eyes that seem artificially whitened-it's as though he doesn't have any pupils. I find it easiest to avoid looking him directly in the eye, even though back home it's considered impolite. Instead, I stare at his lips, painted in the same blanched color as his hair and watch his whitened teeth unveil as he smiles to greet me. Just like my prep team, he's obviously trying to mask his age, what with his uncannily smooth skin and absence of wrinkles. Here in the Capitol, people yearn to look young. Back in District 9, it's the complete opposite. Few get to revel in longevity, considering most die so young.

He approaches me silently. He has a very unwavering presence about him, focused on examining my body and thoroughly unruffled by my lack of concealment. He has been doing this for years, I remind myself. Naked bodies aren't an issue for him, nor anyone from my prep team for that matter. He's very meticulous too, pinching my skin in various places, seizing my arm to measure its length. He even grabs ahold of my hair, feeling the texture while twirling it around his fingers. I feel uncomfortable, but I grit my teeth knowing he's my best chance for gaining any attention from the audience. Meaning, he's also my best bet for staying alive.

"I'm Pryce," he murmurs, not bothering to look up from his inspection and only after five minutes have gone by.

"Marisole," I say, wondering if he's even paying me any attention.

"Marisole? Hm, that's an unusual name," he finally turns his gaze towards me and I shudder at the sight of his eyes.

"Thanks," I say half-heartedly, and look away.

"You have good limbs, not too long. See, I thought they'd be too long. Most in your district have that problem, but for you... they're just right-" he runs his hands over my skin, which give me even more goosebumps than I already have, "-and nice skin too." He smiles and I sense something wearisome about it. "Put this on and follow me, we have a busy couple of hours to attend to," he hands me a gray robe and I follow him as he leads me through the halls and into his office.

I'm too clouded by apprehension as to what I'll be wearing to admire the alluring view from the large windows looking down into the city below. Rather, I take a seat on a palatial red couch and he takes his seat behind his chromatic oval desk and I'm stuck wondering whether it's intentional that my seat's planted lower than his.

"So, Marisole… are you enjoying the Capitol so far?" he begins. Personally, the longer I'm here and the more people I meet the more I feel like gagging, but I keep that a secret. No one is supposed to talk ill of the Capitol and it's everlasting glory. 'The beating heart of Panem' they call it on the national broadcasts.

"It really isn't what I was expecting," I reply truthfully.

"Well, of course. Especially coming from District Nine, of all else," he turns backwards in his chair to look out the window behind him. He sighs. "Must be quite a change." He's right, the tallest building in our district is the Justice Building and compared to some of the skyscrapers they have here, it doesn't come close to half their height. Come to think of it, I've never actually been this high up before.

"Now, as you surely know, there's the question of what you'll be wearing for the parade. Your partner's stylist, Percelus and I, decided on a concept that hasn't been done before. One that I brought up." For the parade the stylists are supposed to create outfits that illustrate an aspect of our district's industry. Since District 9 is responsible for harvesting grains our tributes are usually dressed up in farmer get-ups with pitchforks and large hats. However, since District 11 is also a farming district, we're frequently dressed the same, which puts us both at a huge disadvantage being that most people just mix us up. District 11 is responsible for agriculture. It's similar, but it's not the same. Though most people don't bother to recognize the difference.

"So we won't be dressed as farmers?" I ask, somewhat relieved.

"It's been eighty-seven years and practically eighty-seven farmers. Frankly, I'm getting sick of it. Although, yes, there have been some...expectations." There have been some years where our tributes did manage to stand out. One year, they wore these beautiful yellow outfits brimming with flowers, but the Gamemakers didn't think it was a suitable choice for District 9. The stylist that year defended his costume by saying that flowers grow out of seeds and that seeds are technically considered grains. They didn't listen and ended up executing him and airing it live to the entire nation. Ever since then, most have stuck to the farmer routine, considering it's the safest way to avoid a slow, painful death. I guess Pryce must be utterly confident his idea will be original without garnering away his life.

"Believe it or not, I actually visited your district last summer for some research. Trying to get out in works, you know-see what it's really like. They say your farms are absolutely beautiful in the summertime, so I knew I just had to see it." They are beautiful. It's really the only compliment our district ever gets. Unfortunately, the people here only talk about the positives and ignore the harsh realities beneath all the candy and sunshine. So when a Capitol citizen thinks of District 9, they think of how lovely our fields look in the sun and not the children getting worked to death in the shadows. "While I was there I did notice something that immediately caught my eye, something I want to incorporate into your outfit." Animal carcasses and blood? "That glow-"

The glow you see in the farms really is spectacular. Sometimes Jackson and I would bring Lila with us to watch during our breaks. It's the only thing that diverts our attention from the awful workload and strenuous hours,

"-I mean, it's so dazzling. The way the wheat glows in the sun. It's spectacular, really. That's what I want you to look like. You'll love it."

He begins by showing me some sketches and drawings. "See this is what I initially thought, but then I changed it to this." He goes on, showing me his entire process from one dress to another. I, unfortunately, have to sit there and listen very attentively. I swear he could talk endlessly for hours if you gave him the chance. Despite his self-absorbed attitude, I can't help but admire his brilliance. Apparently, I'll be wearing a long brown, silk dress with grains of seeds hanging from the bottom and glossy brown boots for my feet. On top, I'll be wearing a headpiece that resembles a crown with glowing strands resembling wheat that light up when pressed with a button.

"Isn't great?" he asks, after showing me the final sketch.

"It's wonderful," I say, actually smiling in excitement.

"I told you you'd love it. Now we just need to get you fitted in. Come on, dear."

We head to a fitting room and I put on the dress. I toughen it out through the fitting process that takes loads of stretching and pulling and place the headpiece on top. I rush to the mirror to get a look of the result. I'm taken aback by how stunning I look. I have trouble reminding myself that it's me in the mirror, especially compared to how I looked during the Reaping. Pyrce has certaintly proved his talent. My dress hangs loose by my ankles, with wheat glowing from the bottom and working its way up to my headpiece that shines most distinctly. My makeup is minimal, with the light on my head bringing out my most prominent features. The only thing that takes any attention away is the bright-red lipstick and the golden eyeliner. I also notice-whether it's intentional or not-that I appear much older than I actually am; two or three years at least.

I run my hands down my dress, twirling around several times in the mirror. I spot the locket dangling from my neck. Pryce said it was okay to keep it on; that it fit with the style. As I'm looking at myself again, I note the size of my breasts. They appear larger than usual. I then feel the inflated cups and confirm that they've been placed in by Pryce on purpose. I'm momentarily confused as to why he added this in, but I'm so thrilled by how I'll look in the parade that I toss the thought away.

Pryce comes in after I tell him I'm done and he stands behind me, admiring his own work. "I knew I'd get it right this time, I knew it. I said to myself, 'Pryce, this is your year'." He adjusts my necklace. "Just remember to keep your head still and make sure that crown stays on."

"Thank you," I say, because I really mean it.

"I know, dear." He adjusts the crown on my head one more time and we leave to meet up with everyone else at the stables.

Most of the other tributes are already there when we arrive. I spot a few who glance at my outfit as I make my way. I try my best to keep up with Pryce who shoves his way heedlessly through the crowd. When we reach our chariot-the one pulled with brown horses-I see Avain waiting patiently. Pryce spots him too and waves to him. He then goes up to him and they share a friendly hug. I'm kind of surprised by this, but Pryce must have also been Avain's stylist during his own Games. They must have known each other for years.

I catch Pryce whisper something into his ear and then glance at me. Avain's eyebrow raises at the sight of my glowing dress.

"And there she is. Told you I'd make her shine," says Pryce.

"I didn't think you meant it literally," remarks Avain.

"Remember Marisole, chest up." I become conscious that I'm slouching. I want to refute by saying it's my natural pose, but I then understand what he means; the red-lipstick, making me appear older, the inflated breasts. He's definitely trying to make me look more appealing, but not in the way I imagined. He wants me to be a fantasy for the crowd, and more I look like an adult, the better. Usually, these sort of tributes gain more sponsors. Even then, it's not uncommon for Victors to have their company sold to whoever has the money to show for it. I don't know what I was expecting. For Pryce to show some humility? I feel worse than I've felt since I've arrive Worse than any of those excruciating hours in the Remake Center.

I stand there awkwardly while the two of them continue conversing, talking about people I've never heard of before. However, Pryce doesn't have the anguish to stick around. The longer we stand waiting, the more Pryce's attention turns to other stylists; waving to them and kissing them on the cheeks when they pass. An apparent close friend of his passes by and he excuses himself. He kisses me on the hand, wishes me luck, and disappears in the hoard of people. I'm left standing with Avain by the chariot, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You know that sort of defeats the purpose," he says, although I do spot a tanje of sympathy in his words.

"I'll save it for the crowd."

"It's better than being naked," he's talking about the tributes from 4 who've just passed by us. The ones who are completely naked and painted blue, with burnished scales offering little concealment. "I know how you feel, but let me tell you, this I can work with."

"I thought the snarky attitude was enough," I say.

"Oh, it'll come in handy." Avain's not as bad as I thought. In fact I do feel better knowing I'm not going to be naked, especially in this freezing weather.

"It's not too late for an apology, is it?" I say.

"Well if that's your definition of an apology, then yes."

I can't help but smile, "I'm sorry."

"Just worry about keeping your chin up, alright."

"One step ahead of you," I notice him smile too, but it fades as Lynne arrives with his stylist, Percelus. She's made him look practically identical to me, with the same glowing features on his head, the same brown-silk outfit, and the same golden boots on his feet. I clearly wasn't the only one who was over-sexualisd, Lynne's looking much older too, with a thin shirt and no sleeves.

Percelus is clearly enthusiastic for our first appearance, admitting how much effort it took to make the costumes and remarking how sensational we look. She, at least, has to decency of sticking around, whereas I've yet to see Pryce again anywhere. He might be a good stylist, but his likability is wearing me out.

"You look pretty," remarks Lynne as we enter the chariot.

"Thanks, you too," I reply casually.

"Guess they've never heard of sleeves, huh?" It can't help but laugh, though it's probably the nerves.

We wait until the rest of the tributes arrive and the chariots are lined up in order from district number.

"Remember, smiles and wave to the crowd. You'll be great," instructs Avain as the doors open, expelling an uproar from the crowd.

"Smile and wave. Same as before, right?" repeats Lynne. It take me a moment before I realise he's talking to me.

We wait for the district in front of us to exit before our horses start moving. We approach the massive doors, revealing a mass hysteria of people-thousands of which are watching from the stands and hollering at the top of their longues. It all takes me by surprise and I notice my breathe quickening and my hands shaking.

"You okay?" asks Lynne, placing his hand on my back for support to make sure I don't fall off.

I nod my head, keeping my gaze forwards. I don't need your help.

"Just think about what people back home will be saying," he says. I actually can't wait for those girls back in the orphanage to get a good look at me. But in the back of my head, I can only picture the appalled expression Abatha will have at the sight of my red-lipstick.

Eventually, we cross the doors and that's when I really hear all the comotion. Our outfits must truly be stunning, of course, we're not the only ones: both from 1 are dressed in sparkling gems and rhinestones from head to toe; they're always favorites. Then there's those from 5, with electricity sparkling out of their silver outfits. I don't think I've ever seen that before.

We keep moving forwards, absorbed by the endless amount of people who are continuously cheering out various districts, and more often than not, I hear District 9 passing through the crowd. I smile and wave as per Avain's instructions. It's not hard to fake it this time, with some many people waving back and blowing me kisses, it's impossible not to be sucked into the pandemonium.

This is the first chance the people in the Capitol get to see the tributes. I know that this is all being broadcast across the nation. Every television set will be turned all, all citizens mandated to watch. Back home we don't cheer. We all simply watch from the large screen in the Square. Silently wishing our district's stylists can pull off a miracle. Well, this is certainly as close to a miracle as we've gotten in years.

As we near the end, I hear more whistling and hooting and I become conscious of how many are cheering thanks to my handy breast cups. I'm somewhat relieved when we finally reach the City Circle where all the chariots round up and face a balcony overhead where the president, Cornelius Snow, will make his address to the nation.

He steps out in his usual white suit and the entire place dies down to listen to his speech. I spot the other overhangs where all the prestigious Capital citizens sit. Cameras are also hoisted on top, looking down at us like eagles. This is the time where each pair of tributes are shown on a massive television screen. I spot ourselves appear more than once, confirming that we're surely in top contention for outfits. I look around and spot the tributes from 4, clearly trying to keep themselves from shivering. I'm sure those scales aren't helping, but it does make me feel better.

President Snow approaches the microphone placed in front on him and begins to speak. "On the eve of this years Games, we welcome you tributes with open arms." The crowd cheers louder than ever at his words. "I speak for all of Panem when I say we thank you for your sacrifice and wish you all a happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

It's not a long speech, but it's met with more deafening applause until the anthem plays on the large speakers. After the anthem-and me trying to seem attentive-we're sent into another pair of large doors leading into the Training Center. We're immediately swarmed by our prep teams, congratulating us with endless appraise.

Stunning, jaw-dropping, fabulous, are only some of the words used to describe our splash in the parade. Even Pryce is complementary. It's certainly a great first-impression. I notice Lynne's hand is shaking as much as mine and it relieves me to know that he's not as calm and collected as I had expected.

"Let's get moving, we've got a lot to discuss before tomorrow," says Avain, directing us away. His urgency throws me off, but Lynne and I follow without hesitation. I spot some of the other tributes throwing us nasty looks while we're exiting our chariot.

As we're leave the stables, I catch the tall-looking boy from 1 staring directly at me, clearly jealous that Lynne and I have stolen all the attention from his own gem encrusted outfit. He sees that I've spotted him too and his grin turns into a smile, one that's so sinister it sends shivers down my spine and I'm forced to look away.


	5. Training

We leave the stables leading into the Training Center and Lynne and I are ushered into small changerooms to remove our outfits and change into our evening attires. As beautiful as I looked in my dress, I'm grateful to be taking it off-removing the corset and headpiece and placing the dress on a hanger in front of me. It's still glowing, so I press a little button that Pryce had given me and it flickers off, displaying only the dark brown silk and the hanging grains that remain. My nerves from the ride have finally seethed. I'm just hoping it didn't show on my face. I wipe the sweat off my hands and go to join the others who are waiting for me.

We follow behind Avain and Blossom who begin whispering amongst themselves as we approach the elevator that will take us to our floor.

The Training Center is where the tributes are brought to stay after the opening ceremony. It will be our home here in the Capitol until the Games begin. The building stays the same every year, however, our rooms and the training center below us have only been used a dozen times before. That's because of the Quell that took place a decade or so ago. Because it only occurs every twenty-five years, this building is renovated each time to symbolise a new generation of tributes and to spice up the style every now and again, keeping par with new trends that emerge in the Capitol.

We finally enter the elevator and I have to cling to the metal railing as we sky-rocket up into the air. The glass around us makes everything below look like tiny indiscriminate dots. Both Lynne and I are admittedly fascinated by this because it sure beats climbing stairs.

Eventually, the door opens to the ninth floor and we exit following behind our team. Each district gets their own floor, with a large living space, a balcony, several bedrooms, and a large screening room that's used for watching recaps and even previous Games, explains Blossom. She was right about the whole moderation thing, it's all very exaggerated; with flowing colors everywhere, from the curtains, to the table mats, the chairs, the couches, even the carpet below my feet. None of the colors are in their natural tint either, all composed of neons and mixtures. I find I can't stare too long at anything in particular, so I result to squinting my eyes as best as I can.

"I say we watch the recaps now, then we'll talk about tomorrow," says Avain, leading us into screening room. By tomorrow, he's referring to our training. Because The arenas are always based on outdoor environments, expect one year when the Games took place in an abandoned city. tributes need to know how to catch food, obtain water, and build a fire. Of course, it is called the Hunger Games; some tributes do die from natural causes, but for the most part, survival skills are taught so that not everyone dies from dehydration or hypothermia.. the real point of the games is watching the tributes do the killing. kill themselves off

We each take our seats. I end up sitting with Lynne-whom I haven't managed to avoid since we first met-and prepare to watch a recap of the parade. Practically everything about the Games is filmed: our reapings, chariots, interviews. In the Games, they show every death, fight and injury. The only thing they bother to exempt is urination and defecation (actually sometimes they will, but I think it's mainly to show people that it's not staged or anything; not that anyone would actually get that idea).

We watch the recap, showing the chariots pull up one-by-one on the television. It's the same commentators that spoke during the Reapings and it's in the exact same order too. I don't see anything I don't already know; from the dazzling outfits from 1, the embarrassingly exposed pair from 4, to the shockingly impressive outfits from 5. Unlike the reapings, I got a chance to see everyone already. Even so, when Lynne and I show up, glowing bright and looking spectacular, everyone cheers and rises to share a toast.

"To Lynne and Marisole, for their shining debut!" exclaims Percelus who offers me some alcohol that I seemingly accept. Next, Pryce gets up to cut the large chocolate cake on the table in front of us that looks much more appetizing than the drab-looking ones we have back home. We all have a piece, expect Blossom who explains she's trying to lose wait. _What a silly excuse._

Afterwards, Avain gestures for us to head to the dinner table, insisting we don't have too much cake and ruin our appetites. He's right about saving our stomachs because once we arrive at the dining room, there's a massive table lined with an assortment of food so large it's comical. Avoxs stand around silently, ready to serve our every needs while they hold pitchers of varying beverages and trays of assorted foods. I take my seat opposite Blossom and Avain who give us time to fill our plates and try out the food. I'm not particularly hungry, since all I've been doing has been eating since I've arrived here, so I don't have to worry about embarrassing myself like I did on the train.

An Avox refills my cup with red wine as Avain starts speaking in a sober tone. He begins by explaining the training phase that will take place. How starting tomorrow morning, we'll be sent downstairs to start our first day at the Training Center, and how we'll only be given three days to move around various stations until we have to show the Gamemakers what we're capable of.

"Marisole, I already know you can shoot, but can you do anything else. There's always the chance that there might not be a bow in the arena," asks Avain after he's finished explaining everything.

The reason I prefered bows was because I found it safer to stay a distance away from the animals. I'd also climb a top a tree if I felt I was in danger, but I rarely threw a spear. That was Jackson's preference. He was good at it too, he can throw almost as far as I could shoot. "I can climb pretty well, as long as I don't go too high," I say.

"Alright, well, sleeping in a tree leaves you less exposed than if you're on the ground. It's also a good way to get the jump on an opponent. How about you, Lynne? Any talents you'd like to share, or would you rather tell me in private?"

"Well, I'm not really good at anything. I guess that's a problem," says Lynne openly.

"Not necessarily..." Avain's staring intently at him, rubbing his chin as he ponders for a moment. "Stand up," he motions.

Lynne rises awkwardly. I notice his physique for the first time. Money's been good to him. He's tall and clearly well-fed. Despite the fact that his hands lack any calluses, he's got the bulk to show for it. In fact, he looks more like one of the Careers if anything. Unlike myself with my ribs protruding and barely a hundred pounds on me.

"What are you, six feet, huh? I'd say about… a-hundred-and-eighty pounds, at least. You showing up like that will impress enough of the Gamemakers, even if you don't do anything."

Avain's right, all Lynne has to do is pick up a sword, swing it around a bit and he'll have most of the Gamemakers in awe. Whereas, someone like myself would be have to rely on immense skill to make the same impression. Looking at him I sort of get jealous. But I'm quickly relieved that having a bow will mean I won't have to get in too close if we're in a fight. I shake the unpleasant thought from my head.

Lynne sits back down and Avain continues. "Here's what I need you two to do-" he looks to Lynne first "-find something that you're decent at, so long as it's something reputable to show for your private session. But make sure-" he's looking at both of us now "-make sure not to reveal to anyone what you're good at; that you're good at all frankly. It's best to stay forgettable, not too strong-so that others won't target you-and not too weak-or others will think that you're intentionally hiding something. Marisole, they'll be bows, but I want you to save that for your private session. Got it?"

We both shake our heads affirmingly. After our three days, we'll each be called individually to demonstrate something to the Gamemakers and be scored from one to twelve: one being utterly inept and twelve being incredibly deadly.

"But it's important not to overlook the survival skills, that oughta be your focus for the most part," adds Blossom. Lynne and I turn to her, taken aback by her inclusion. I had completely forgotten she was even sitting there in the table with us. The affirmation in her tone seems so misplaced with that benign-sounding voice.

"Well now, don't look so surprised. Blossom's been doing this for as long as I have. She's not just here to look pretty," ushers Avain supportingly, spotting the surprised looks on our faces. I swear I see her blush. but it's hard to be sure with all that makeup covering her cheeks.

"Yes.. well, try to learn something that'll help keep you alive, like building a fire or tying some knots," she continues unscathingly.

"Tributes die from hyperthermia and dehydration almost every year. And with me as your mentor, I don't expect that to happen to one of you two, got it? I have a reputation to keep up."

This actually makes me laugh, even though I know it's in bad taste.

"Thanks for the advice," says Lynne, inevitably smiling too.

"Let me tell you, frostbite hurts like a bi-" Blossom quickly nudges Avain's arm, but I catch him mouth the rest of the word silently. Both me and Lynne are holding in our smiles and I even see Blossom struggling to do the same.

Avain takes a sip from his glass and then looks to us as if he's remembered something. "One last thing, keep an eye out on other tributes, not just the Careers. Try making a note of anyone who stands out in your mind." He then gets up from his chair. "It's probably best to get some sleep, now. The adults have got some talking to do and you two need to be up early," he says, taking a massive seat on the couch.

We get up and walk to our rooms as Blossom goes to sit beside Avain and our prep teams.

"Mind if we stick together tomorrow? I bet it'll make us more intimidating," says Lynne when we're right outside our bedrooms.

I immediately want to say no, but realize the potential advantage it will give me. Not so much the intimidating part, but more the fact that I'll be able to take note of what he's good at, considering he already knows all my talents.

"Yeah, why not," I say. I just hope he doesn't slow me down too much.

"Don't worry, I swear I'm a fast-learner," he says, reading my mind. I'm already sure I'll regret this agreement, but I'm too tired to change my mind. Before I know it, Lynne's already disappeared into his room and I decide it best to do the same.

I enter my room with the automatic door that I've still not gotten used to, strip off all clothes, and curl up naked in the sheets. He's messing with my mind, surely, because all I can think about are his seemingly amiable intentions. I need to forget about Lynne Iovis and focus on myself, on staying alive and getting back to Jackson and Lila. And for that to happen, I can't let Lynne get the better of me.

I shake away my thoughts and spot a lovely bouquet of lilacs, tulips and other various flowers that I'm too tired to identify on the nightstand beside my bed. From looking, I can tell they're real. Not like those I saw on the dining table, but more like the ones that grow around the rusted gate of the orphanage back home. It's authenticity offers me some relief, which I'm seemingly finding less and less of, and I decide to make an effort to water them tomorrow. I then remember the locket suspended from my neck and grip it with all my might. I don't want to open it, knowing that the image of my mother's face will surely conjure up endless thoughts and a sleepless night. But it's heartening to feel like I'm still holding on to a piece of District 9, even though I know I'm farther from it than I've ever been.

Unlike last night night, I fall asleep almost instantly, with the numbness in my hand fading with each breath I take. I dream not of the farms or the orchic tree, but of previous Games; the particularly bloody ones I remember watching with Jackson back on the blurry television. I'm glad that when I finally wake up, all the memories and images disappear and I'm left gripping the locket, slightly disoriented at the gory images that are exponentially fading into oblivion. I look out the window and spot the morning dew covering the glass and know I've woken up early again.

I decide to head to the sink in the bathroom, fill up a glass, and pour it into the flowers before I forget. I gently caress the petal of a yellow tulip protruding from the middle and place the glass beside the vase. Maybe I should of kept the rose Jackson had given me. It was a lovely gesture. I try to remember where I had left it, but can't quite recall. Probably back in the Justice Building...when he had told me he loved me. I should of said it back, because really, I'd of wanted him to know I feel the same way.

I sigh.

Our last conversation seems like so long ago. _It's only been a few days_ , I remind myself. And only a few more until I'm fighting for my life.

I crane my neck and head to the closet on the other side of the room. I spot the outfit Pryce had instructed me to put on for training this morning. It's a black bodysuit, with sturdy boots and a brown stripe running down the middle that I assume is meant to represent wheat.

 _Real creative..._

I get dressed, but I don't spend as much time in the mirror. Yesterday was about looking pretty, but today is all about looking tough. I wash my face, pull my hair back in a bun and head to eat some breakfast.

As I pass through the halls, I run into Blossom who's just left her room with a cup of steaming coffee clenched in her hands. The sight of her completely throws me off because for the first time since I've met her, she's not wearing her usual blue wig. In fact, she's not wearing any of that exorbitant makeup, either. It's just her actual self, nothing to hide behind. I can't help but admire how much better she looks, with her naturally-and unmistakably striking-blonde hair and big round eyes.

She notices me too and smiles warmly. "Nice to see you're out of bed."

"Yeah," I say, still in shock at the sight of her.

"Oh, excuse the look. I haven't had time to get ready yet," she says, covering her face and ruffling her hair back. "These early morning are really gettin' to me."

I notice her glance down at my locket. "Ya know, I've been looking to buy one just like that," seizing gently it in her hands. "It's a token from your district, right?"

I nod.

"Mind if I open it?" I let her and she opens up the picture of my mother hidden inside. Her eyes immediately widen at her sight. She then looks to me, her eyes pondering for a moment as she intensely examines my face, and she eventually lets out her usual smile. "She's beautiful. You look a lot like her."

I smile back, forgetting that I'm talking to someone from the Capitol, but more like someone from home.

She carefully closes the locket and adjusts it on my neck. "Make sure you keep it safe, alright?"

I nod again and Blossom disappears into her room behind me.

I eat breakfast alone, watching the clock tick down as I eagerly waiting for the others to show up so that we can head down to our first day of training. The unease of meeting my adversaries keeps my appetite down, so I resort to calmly sipping the tea set for me on the table.

Eventually, Blossom arrives again. She's back to wearing her wig and it's clear that the slimmer of friendship we had has almost instantly disintegrated because I can hardly stand looking at her with all those sparkles this early in the morning.

We sit in silence until Lynne finally arrives; ten minutes before we're supposed to head down. I see the dark bags under his eyes and it's obvious he's had a sleepless night. It does, however, relieve me to know I'm not the only one who's had a rough night.

When the clock reaches ten-and Avain's still hasn't shown up-Blossom ushers us towards the elevator, urging Lynne to get up and stop yawning. The ride down to the Training Center is less than a minute long. The doors open to reveal a large gymnasium filled with countless weapons and obstacle courses.

At least half the tributes have arrived, and those who stand waiting are gathered in a semi-circle facing an athletic, middle-aged women with the word _head instructor_ plastered on her side. Every tribute is wearing the same outfit, the only difference being the color running down the middle.

Once the last pair has arrived, the women in the center begins to explain the training schedule. She explains how each station has an expert ready to teach us the various designated skills and that we're free to roam around the stations until lunch is called. Some of the stations teach survival skills, other fighting skills; all information that's already been given to us by Avain, but both Lynne and I listen anyways.

My mind does falter occasionally as she speaks, glancing at the other tributes around me. My bitter rivals. The ones I'll have to confront in a matter of days. I notice the bigger, more muscular tributes from 1, 2 and 4 standing shoulder-to-shoulder and clearly eager to get their hands on the weapons the head instructor is currently listing out. I'm just hoping none of them prefer using a bow and arrow. Most of the other tributes, expect from 7, are as skinny as myself, if not more so. I look to the far right and see the boy from 12, the one with the hauntingly thin arms, with his head down and staring intensely at the floor.

When the instructor releases us, I watch the Career Tributes immediately head to pick up the most deadly-looking weapons and attempt to impress the Gamemakers, who are watching from elevated stands overlooking the gym.

Lynne's standing next to me, scanning for an empty station to head to first. "How about we try building a fire?" he asks.

"Sure," I reply. I'm glad that Lynne's suggested we stick together. The thought of being alone in the same space with the other tributes is unquestionably daunting. Especially after I've just finished watching the boy from 1 throw a spear so hard into a dummy's heart that it almost went all the way through-making that smile he gave me back at the stables that much more frightening.

I follow Lynne and approach the fire-building station with materials ready at hand. The trainer there gives us a thorough demonstration on how to build a fire with the most basic of supplies. I get one started pretty quick, considering that back on the farms we'd build fires for warmth when our shifts dragged on longer than usual. It takes Lynne a little longer, but he actually is a fast-learner and eventually we both have fires that gain an impressive nod of approval from the trainer.

We spend the rest of the morning alternating between other various survival stations, from identifying poisonous berries, to treating an open wound, until both Lynne and I master the skill as best as we can and move on.

By the time we reach the knot-tying station, I can tell Lynne's trying hard to keep up and his lack of sleep isn't helping much either.

"I swear this is impossible," he blurts out, trying for his sixth time to fastened the snare the trainer had shown us. I see him toss the rope to the ground. "Why can't I make mine look like that?" admiring the snare I had tied a long while ago.

"You know, working on the farm has its upsides. You've just gotta be more patient," I insist, picking up his rope and instructing him on how to tie it properly. "Who knows, it might end up saving your life," I say, mimicking our first conversation with Avain.

"Very funny," he says as he watches me work.

"Don't you think he could have at least woken up before we left?" I say, tightening the knot harder than expected.

"Oh come on, don't be so hard on him. He really is trying to help us" he refutes. "Besides, imagine mentoring a new pair of tributes each year by yourself." It does make me more sympathetic. After the Games, victors are supposed to mentor the future tributes from their district. Since Avain's the only one we have that's still alive, he has to be responsible for the both of us each year all by himself.

"Well, he could at least-" I try to keep my temper down as I fasten another knot, "-I don't know, show up for breakfast."

"Maybe you let too many things bother you," he says.

"Yeah, maybe," I say. Although, I don't believe it to be true.

I tighten the last knot and double-check any flaws until I'm content with my work

"Wow, impressive," says Lynne, yawning loudly. "But, I'll probably just skip using snares in the arena."

"Suit yourself," I say.

As we're searching for a new station, I spot the girl from 2-the one Blossom mentioned, who looks even more deadly in person. She's been chucking axes into dummy's heads all morning. In fact, most of the other Careers haven't budged from the weapon stations either, throwing spears or swinging maces effortlessly. I look over to the Gamemakers who are watching them intently, casually jotting down notes every now and then. They've mostly been ignoring District 9, probably considering that our tributes are never really favorites to win.

"They don't look that scary," points out Lynne, who's begun watching the Careers as well.

I look to him with a befuddled stare.

"What? They're just a bunch of kids like the rest of us." he says casually.

"Yeah, expect they can kill someone from thirty yards away."

"and So can you," he says in a hushed tone.

His words send a disturbing image through my mind, even though I'm sure he meant it as a compliment. I instinctively look to the archery station in the far corner of the gymnasium. So far-to my relief-I hadn't noticed any tributes take a special interest in it. Of course, Avain had instructed me to steer clear from archery until my private sessions, but it's so undeniably tempting.

"Let's move on," I say, avoiding the urge to string a bow right here and now.

"Lead the way."

We decide to try out some of the weapon stations we've been averting. We attempt some knife throwing, which I find I'm actually quite good at. All the while, I keep in mind Avain's other instruction: keeping an eye on the other tributes. Most of them have been pretty uninteresting, clearly never having picked up a weapon before in their lives. The red-headed girl from 8, for instance, almost sliced her foot off after clumsily dropping her sword.

At lunch, we eat in a cafeteria off the side of the gymnasium. Carts are placed carrying food and you serve yourself. Most either sit alone or with their district partner. The exception being the Career Tributes, who sit gathered together around one table, talking noisily and blatantly ignoring the rest of us.

I'm preoccupied in watching the female tribute from District 4. Unlike her counterparts, she's by far the scrawniest of the bunch. She seems so out of place, clearly not weighing much more than me. I'm stuck thinking I'd easily be able to take her in a fight when Lynne breaks my train of thought.

"You think the others were jealous of our costumes?" he asks, taking a bread roll from the basket.

"The boy from one sure was," I say.

"Why, did he say something?" he asks, peering over to him. I explain the confrontation I had with him yesterday.

"Well, he certainly knows how to hold a grudge," he says. "I wouldn't worry about him, though. He doesn't seem too bright."

"In his case, he doesn't really need to be," I say, somewhat coldly. I really don't know why Lynne's so eager to talk to me. I thought my distant and sullen attitude was an obvious enough sign/hint that I wasn't interested in us being friends. But the way he talks-his confidence and ease at small-talk-reminds me so much of Jackson. Now I'm stuck thinking about him, about how much easier it'd be much easier if he were here. He'd probably give the boy from 1 a run for his money.

The second day of training, while at the trident throwing range, we find ourselves with the pair from 4. My mind keeps reverting back to their chariot costumes, and I gotta say I find it odd seeing them with their clothes on. As I throw my trident, and miss by a laughable margain, I hear Lynne exchanging a few good-natured remarks with the both of them that I find deeply unsettling, so I quietly urge that we move on.

We continue trying out the rest of the weapon stations, and despite Avain's instructions to appear forgettable, Lynne excels at hand-to-hand combat, but it isn't until we try out sword fighting that he really shines. I'm glad I've stuck around this long because now I'm dead if I get into a fight close-range with him. He's reflexes are amazingly quick and he's strong enough to deflect most of the instructor's attacks with ease. The Careers spot this too and begin eyeing him from across the gym. Lynne must have also noticed they've taken an interest in watching him and purposely gets worse and worse, missing more and more hits and allowing himself to get struck more and more often.

"They turn away yet?" he asks me, after getting directly hit in the nose by the instructor who's undoubtedly perplexed at his sudden loss of skill.

I nod my head.

"That was close," he says, rubbing his bruises and wiping the sweat off his face.

"I guess you found what to show for your private session," I say, wondering whether to be jealous of him or not.

"Yeah, thankfully," he says.

"Where to next? I ask, eyeing the edible plant section.

"Actually, you can go on without me. I'm just slowing you down anyways. I'll go throw some spears or something." This takes me by surprise. I can't help but feel sceptical, but also glad to be left alone for the first time. I nod my head again and he parts to the spear station directly overlooking the Gamemakers' booth. _I better keep an eye on him_. _He's a lot more dangerous than I thought._ Well, at least he doesn't have any discretion in keeping anything from me.

I walk over to the edible plant station, something I know will come in use when I'm in the arena. While I'm stuck trying to differentiate between two possibly poisonous mushrooms, I hear a loud thud from across the gym that breaks my concentration. I look to see the boy from 5 laying on the ground, screaming in pain. He must have fallen off a ledge of the obstacle course and dislocated his arm or something because I watch two guards storm in and drag him into a room that I assume must be the infirmary. His painful screams fill the space as everyone stops what they're doing and stares. All seem distraught, except the Careers who can't stop snickering as the boy is dragged out by his heels.

Back on the ninth floor, Avain's back to being on top of things, barraging us with questions about what we found we were or weren't good at. I mention my time spent at the survival stations and knife throwing, whereas Lynne mentions his performance at sword fighting, which offers Avain some relief.

"Well, I'm glad you found something you're good at," he says, keenly listening to Lynne's recount. "Because tomorrow they'll starting calling you individually for your private sessions, like we talked about. Lynne, show them what you learned, and Marisole-" he points to me with his finger, "-show them how well you can shoot."

We both nod in unicence.

"And don't let yourselves be nervous. Most of them will be drunk by the time you show up anyways," he adds, with an edge of bitterness.

On the third day, they start calling us one by one out of lunch for our individual assessments. It goes district by district, first the boy, then the girl tribute. This time, all the tributes sit in pairs. No one speaks, not even the Careers. I watch as the room empties and each tribute is called up. I spot the boy from 5, the one who was dragged away yesterday, with his arm bandaged up. Whatever chance he had of making an impression on the Gamemakers has vanished, no doubt. The room slowly gets more and more empty until only a handful of people remain. Eventually, Lynne's name is called and he rises.

"Don't drop that sword," I tell him, just loud enough so that the others don't hear me.

"Don't shoot one of them by accident," he says in the same hushed tone.

I laugh. I laugh so hard it throws everyone in the room off to the point that they're all staring at me like I'm some sort of lunatic. I hadn't expected it to come out that loud, but I don't care. This whole situation, ever since I was reaped, has been making me less and less sane. Lynne raises his eyebrow, but ignores the awkwardness I've created and heads to meet the Gamemakers. I spot several of the remaining tributes stares lingering on me, probably questioning my sanity. Let them, that way when we're in the arena, they'll think twice before attacking me-the deranged girl from 9. The thought of being perceived as a threat actually puts a smirk on my face.

I sit for about fifteen minutes until my name is called. I rise, take a deep breath, and walk into the gymnasium.


	6. The Scores

I enter the gym and find the place in a heaping mess. Serrated limbs and tossed weights litter the floor, with most of the targets heavily worn out. From looking at the used stations, I can tell the other tributes haven't ceased in impressing the Gamemakers who are in their usual position, high above on the stands. Now it's my turn, I think, gritting my teeth.

The twenty or so men and women dressed in lavish purple robes sit in comfortable-looking couches with a buffet of food off to their side. Several of them are talking loudly and I confirm that Avain was right about them being tipsy by the time I got here. In spite of this, some still have to decency to acknowledge my arrival and prep their note pads for my session. I spot the Head Gamemaker, Valerius Finn, with his distinct fur collar rise to greet me.

"You may begin," he ushers.

Without second thought, I immediately head towards the archery range. I spot the bows arranged neatly on a stand to my left. Oh, how I've been waiting to get my hands on them! I remember how tempting it was just watching them these past few days. Now, I can finally show them all what I'm good at. what is surely my only hope in winning these Games. I promptly examine all the different varieties available: metallic ones, plastics ones, wooden ones similar to those I use back home. I grab the shining silver one which initially caught my eye and hoist the matching sheath of arrows on my back.

With the bow locked in my hands, I begin to feel nervous. It's been awhile since I've last shot; since I was on the farms last summer, actually. That was a few months ago and I'm worried that my shooting's become a little sluggish. I look back to the stands and notice that most of them are watching me with intrigue. I take another deep breath and attempt to tune them out as best as possible. I approach a human silhouette planted thirty yards away. I remind myself it's no different than being back on the farm where I'd usually spend my free-time shooting arrows into the trunk of a tree.

I load the bow, but immediately feel that something is wrong. This bow is much stronger than the one I'm used to. I attempt to pull it with all my might, but I'm bundginly forced to unload as the string jerks my arm back. My cheeks burn up in embarrassment, knowing I've made myself look like a fool. The bows back home were hand-made, and most only shot a few yards, at best. These, however, are much stiffer- they're made to kill. I'm so stupid for thinking they wouldn't be any different and letting my eagerness get the better of me. Fortunately, when I look up to the stands, I see the Gamemakers are still watching me. Despite the curious looks on their faces, I still haven't lost their attention. I quickly rush back to the rack of bows and this time pick out the lighter, wooden bow from the bottom, angry with myself for not having chosen it to begin with.

I approach my previous position and prepare myself to shoot. I know that this bow isn't as strong, so I'm forced to move forwards a bit. I let my breath out slowly as I release the string. The arrow lands a few inches from the dummy's heart and I'm instantly relieved I hadn't missed. I don't risk losing any momentum and swiftly reload another arrow from my quiver and aim again. This time, I skewer the dummy directly in the forehead. I send another one into the bullseye of one of the knife throwing targets and another into the punching bag to my right. I keep shooting until I start to feel more and more at ease. I'm glad my reflexes have stayed the same after all those months, because the more I'm shooting, the more I imagine I'm shooting at animals. Aiming for their eyes, or throats-whatever would guarantee a sure kill. A few of my shots are off, but I quickly send another arrow in response to cover it up. I let my last arrow fly, but I feel my shoulders start to get tired and give way and the shot veers off from my intend trajectory. It lands sideways into the camouflage station, knocking over a can of paint from the table. The red paint flies everywhere, spilling its crimson contents all over the grassy terrain.

The Gamemakers seem impressed, and probably assume that I had meant to hit it. Some of them are jotting stuff down, while others have gotten up to fill their plates from the buffet. I'm panting hard, but I feel the pride brewing inside of me. It's a momentous relief when I put my bow back in it's initial spot and they dismiss me.

I exit towards the elevator on the other side of the gymnasium. My successful display has made me all jittery and I almost hit the wrong button. I know I did well, I know they'll have to give me a decent score. My shooting was far better than I had hoped, they had seen it-those who were paying attention. I know my small stature won't put me in top contention, but I'm sure I've sealed at least seven, and that's far better than most.

When I arrive on the ninth floor, I storm into the dining room, wanting to immediately tell Avain how it went. Unfortunately, the space is empty and no one is around, so I decide to wash off the sweat from training while I can.

I enter the shower and aimlessly press buttons that cover me in a nice-smelling lotion and blow me dry. I place my soaking hair in a vacuum to the side and it instantly twirls my hair, giving it a lush and curly finish. All the while, I can't help feel better than I have in days. Now I know they'll have to put a bow in the arena. One that's meant for me. I mean, they do have a show to put on and they need some players to turn the tides, ones that can fight. Of course, all I need to do is get my hands on it.

After I've changed into my clothes, I go to sit by the window-sill. I watch the bustling streets below: cars racing, people hurrying every which way. I don't like all this commotion. I liked it much better back home, where I would watch from my window in a tranquil silence. Yes, it does beat watching the fumes coming from the Sheds and the garbage-filled streets of District 9, but that's what I'm used to. Below, the streets are so clean it's as though they constantly wiping it with soap. It's all so fake, just like their make-up and surgeries. Maybe that's how they manage to sleep at night.

An hour or so passes until I hear Blossom's voice calling me to dinner. I'd been watching the Capitol the entire time, blurting out profanities in my head every so often.

Everyone is already there by the time I arrive. Even our prep teams are present. It's the first time I notice we're all together. I spot Brim and Lusthasia and can't help but resent the thought of having to sit so close to them.

"Alright, so how did it go?" asks Avain before I get the chance to fill up my plate.

Lynne looks to me, but I let him go first. "Well… I showed up, swung a sword around a bit, and left."

"Did they seem impressed?" he inquires further.

"I think so, those who were watching," he says flatly, grabbing a pork chop from a silver platter. "My arm's pretty sore, though."

Avain turns to me. "And how about you?"

Everyone's eyes are glued to me, but I fill my bowl with some rose-petal soup before I speak. "I think I did pretty well. One of my shots were off, but I don't think they noticed." I say as casually as I can.

"It's good to know you didn't toss all our hard work down the trash," says Pryce with his typical patronizing attitude.

"Well, I'm proud of both of you," says Blossom. "No matter what scores you get."

The rest of dinner I spend reserved. I'm so eager to get a look at my score that I begin cramming the rest of my food down my mouth, which makes Blossom shudder. By the end of dinner, I'm so full I can hardly breathe.

"Hurry, it's starting!" calls out Percelus who's gotten up to the living room and is directing our attention to the television that's begun blaring out the national anthem. We each get up from the table and take our usual seats on the couches. Avain arrives last, carefully wobbling in to join the rest of us, as the anthem concludes.

First they show a picture of the tribute, then flash their score below it. Like with the Reapings and the Parade, it begins with District 1. The Careers tend to get in the eight-to-ten range. However, the male tribute from 1 pulls off an eleven and it sends a chilling expression on each of our faces. In contrast, the girl from 4 receives a surprisingly low six, which puts a smirk on my face. I remember how she sat on the edge of the Career's table, not taking part in any of their clamorous conversations. The only other person I remember speaking to her was her district partner...and Lynne, of course. The rest of the tributes average a five, but the girl from 7-the fifteen-year-old-scores an impressive ten.

"She's the one who volunteered, right?" asks Lusthasia with wide eyes.

"She's certainly worth watching out for," says Avain, looking over to Lynne and I with his berating blue eyes. I try to recall anything I can about her during training, but my mind is drawn to a blank. She must have been intentionally hiding her skills so that no one would know what she's good at; the same strategy Avain had given us. I remind myself to make a mental note of avoiding her when I'm in the arena.

Finally, District 9 appears, and Lynne's face is shown. He scores a nine and it sends everyone out of their seats. I see the disbelief on his face and begin clapping too. It's unbelievably impressive, especially considering that he's only ever picked up a sword two days ago; for only a couple minutes, really. I wonder whether he's had some practice before, but it seems unlikely. I toss my suspicions away as I see my face appear on the television. I brace myself for the score and sense the tense atmosphere filling the living room. Before I know it, they're flashing the number eight on-screen and everyone rises again. I let out a sigh of relief. It's much better than I had hoped for. Yes, it's not as high as Lynne's, but still impressive for someone outside of the Career Tributes.

"I guess that mistake wasn't so bad," says Lynne, with a genuine affability in his voice.

"Yeah, I guess not," I say. For the first time I'm not jealous of him out-performing me. Rather, I'm glad District 9 has finally gotten two decent scores from its tributes. The first time we've made highlights in a long while. I can only imagine how people back home are celebrating. Crowds gathered around the Square, cheering us on. I would be too, knowing our district has out-shined most of the others. I'm sure Jackson and Lila are thrilled. Thrilled to know I've done so well this far. I can even picture Abatha holding in her excitement from behind those sedated eyes.

"Now I can't wait for you see the costumes we've prepared for your interviews," says Percelus, going in to hug me.

"More flashy lights?" asks Lynne, who's also trying to fend off the assailing hugs from his prep team.

"Oh, you'll see," she says.

"Just remember what a high score means when the Games begin," says Avain who's still sitting down on the couch. The cheering stops. He's right, as usual. Higher scores tend to lead to more sponsors, but they also increase the chances of others targeting you. Now that he mentioned it I'm actually glad that Lynne scored higher than me because, in retrospect, my eight is far more forgettable when compared to his nine.

"So what, you're saying we should avoid the bloodbath?" asks Lynne.

"Depends on how fast of a runner you are," says Avain, watching the rest of the scores flash by. I can tell by his lack of interest that they're probably all mediocre at best.

"I'm sure you'll talk about it later," says Blossom, who notices Lynne standing over Avain, determined to get a better answer from him. "Now's definitely not the time-"

"The Games begin in a few days, when will later be?" demands Lynne. I see him getting worked up. In fact, it's the first time I've heard him raise his voice cut out. And I thought it was my job to be the demanding one.

"You two really know how to get on my nerves, don't you," grumbles Avain. He gets up from his seat, gulps down the rest of his drink, and stands to face Lynne. "You have more important things to worry about at the moment."

"More important than staying alive!" he says angrily.

"That's if you even have a shot to begin with. And if you neglect your interviews, then you're as good as dead anyways," says Avain, staring him down.

For a solitary second, it looks as though Lynne might shoved him or something, but all he does is turn to me. I can tell by the expression in his eyes that he's hoping I back him up, but I remain silent. I know Avain is right, because I'm thinking back to my own outburst on the train. He was right then and he's right now. I don't know what's provoked him, but maybe-just like me-the reality of being put into the arena is finally getting to him. It just took him a little longer, that's all. Before long, he turns away and storms into his room.

"Well, that was an ordeal…" says Pryce after a few moment of silence. I see Blossom shaking her head and my prep team's faces cowering in fear. All Avain does is sigh, rub his scar, and sit back down. I don't spend any time sticking around after that. Instead, I escape back into my room that I've made a sort of sanctuary for myself, and lie in my bed thinking about what Lynne said and how it's making me feel. Pity. That's what I feel. Exactly what I saw in Lynne's face back on the train.

That must be why he came to apologize. He wasn't trying to deceive or mock me in any way. He was simply trying to cheer me up. I'm wondering whether or not I should go talk to him too. Try to figure out what's bothering him. But somehow, somewhere, my mind feels split in half, like two sides pulling me in opposite directions. One, that's telling me to help Lynne out, and the other that's saying it's best to leave him be. Yes, it's dispicable to treat him like he doesn't exist, even though he's been nothing but friendly and helpful since we've met. But it's not fair, it's not my fault we're both in the Games. Where one's survival ensures the other's demise. Now, I'm getting angry with him again, angry that he's let me begun to care about him. Being supportive, treating me like a friend, only to be put into the arena with him, where we'll be forced to fight to the death. But then the other side pulls me in, and my anger disappears. Deep-down, I don't think he's doing this as some sort of sick, deceptive game; one where he's trying to pull at my heart strings, and then turn them against me. No. I think I've misjudge Lynne Iovis. Because what I think I've learnt in these these past few days, is that he's never been playing the game to begin with. He's simply a normal, eighteen-year-old boy who's been trying his hardest to keep it together through this nightmare. And his way of coping has probably been through his interactions with me, a friend to sympathize with his agony. And there I've been, unfriendly and unsympathetic. Constantly questioning his motives. Even though he probably never had any to begin with.

This thought makes me want to cry, not of consolation, but of frustration. Frustration for being in the Games to begin with. Having to be forced to turn on my district partner, with my life at stake. And then my anger seeps into the heart of where all my anger stems from: at the Capitol, for doing this to us. For making us live in fear to the point where we can't even trust those from our own district. And there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. The only thing I can do to help him is die, and even with my chaotic mind in shambles, I know I don't want that.

It doesn't take long before I realize I won't be falling asleep any time soon. I lie restlessly in my bed, watching the moon high above in the night sky-the same moon I'd watch from my bedroom in the orphanage-and avoid the endless barrage of emotions and thoughts trying to enter my head. I decide it pointless to continue trying to fall asleep and resolve to walking mindlessly through the halls. I need to clear my head, and since there aren't any farms around, it's as good an alternative as any.

I can tell it's late, since most of the rooms are empty and everyone's probably gone to sleep. I enter the dining room and find Avoxs still attempting to clean up the mess we made this evening. I feel bad watching them and consider helping them out, but I know it's better I don't. It would surely get either them or myself in unnecessary trouble. Instead, I keep walking, passing more rooms until I spot the screening room with the door wide open. I silently approach the door and spot Lynne searching through a large box of tapes, some of which are littered across the ground or piled disorderly on the table beside him. He's wearing the same shirt he wore during the reaping and it sends a pang of heartache through my skin.

"Can't sleep?" I ask. He looks up to me with his weary eyes.  
"Haven't been able to since I got here," he says, going back to rummaging through the tapes. "It's a miracle I'm still standing."

"What are you doing?"

He rubs his eyes for a moment. "Watching previous Hunger Games. The ones where tributes outside of 1, 2 and 4 have won. Trying to pick up some recurring strategies or something."

"Oh," I say. "Mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest," he says, with his usual smile. I take a seat on the couch. Another one of our common silences fill the room, until Lynne breaks the ice once again. "I don't know why I let myself get so worked up," he sets the tape from his hands down. "It's probably just my lack of sleep."

"I know," I say. Sleep-deprivation, anxiety, depression; he can call it whatever he wants. Whatever it is, he's been bearing it for four days, whereas I had hardly lasted four hours.

"Don't worry, I'll apologize to Avain first thing tomorrow. Unlike you, it's one of my strong suits," he teases and I'm glad to know he's still retained his sense of humor.

"I'm sure he's had enough of us already," I say.

"We should probably get him a present," he says. "A sort of consolation gift."

"Maybe a cane," I suggest. We both burst out laughing, and for the first time since I've met Lynne, I'm actually enjoying his company.

"So, how long have you been here?" I ask after we've both settled down.

"A few hours," he says, looking up at the clock.

"Pick up any interesting tactics?" I ask.  
"Not much. Most of the time, tributes won when the Careers lost their supplies; either they were poorly guarded and pack of mutts destroyed them or a flood swept them away. Other times, the Gamemakers accidentally killed them off."

Personally, I can't recall any Games I watched where a Career didn't win. The last one I remember watching was Avain's, and that was almost seven years ago.

Lynne goes back to looking through the box until he pulls out a tape he still hasn't seen. The year on the tape is seventy-five, making it the third Quarter Quell.

"Who won that year," I ask, unable to make out the name.

"A boy from six, Tiberius Braun," he reads. The name strikes me as familiar, but I know I've never seen these Games before, since I was too young when they took place.

"Should we watch it, then?" I say, knowing that going back to bed is not a viable option.

"Might as well," says Lynne. He pops the tape in and I curl up on the couch and cover myself with a blanket to my left. Lynne remains seated on the ground and rests his head on the foot of the sofa. The t.v. turns on, and after the anthem, they show President Snow-who looks practically identical to his current self-drawing the envelope for the third Quarter Quell. He reads from a square of paper informing Panem that in honor of the thousands of Capitol children who lost their lives at the hands of the rebels, only those aged twelve to fifteen will be reaped.

"How awful," I blurt out.

"I think I remember my dad telling me about this," says Lynne. "We can watch another one if you want."

I shake my head. My curiosity won't let me do that. Now that I've begun watching, I know I won't be able to turn away. Just like when I glance at the shriveling dead bodies littering the streets of District 9 or when I watched my roomate die during her Games. It's one of those things you can't look away from, no matter how appalling it really is.

It cuts straight to the reapings, where at least half of the tributes look no older than thirteen. I bite my lip at the thought of them being thrown into the arena. The tributes from 1 and 2, however, are all fifteen-year-old volunteers, and despite their lack of size, look as menacing as they do every year. District 6 shows up and Tiberius' name is called. He's also fifteen, which gives him a huge advantage compared to the rest; unlike the twelve-year-old pair from 9, the ones who are hardly five-feet tall even on their toes.

The chariots-where District 9 kids are dressed in their usual farmer outfits-and the training scores flash by. Most of the Careers pull off an eight, with the highest score being a nine. Tiberius manages to gain a six, which proves to be rather decent. Then the interviews flash by even quicker because there's so little time to focus on anyone, but since Tiberius is going to be the victor, they show his interview in its entirety. He mainly resorts to answering questions with a simple yes or no. The only time he really speaks is when he's asked whether he has any siblings back home, to which he replies he has a younger sister that he promised he'd come back to. It instantly makes my stomach drop as I think of Lila, and how I promised I would try to win for her too.

It then cuts to the morning of the Games. We watch the camera rise up from a tube in the Launch Room and into the arena. The tributes stand around the horn, encompassed by their snow-covered surroundings. To the south, lies a dense pined wood, and to the north, barren hills that stretch for miles. It must be freezing, because most are shivering by the time they've risen and are desperately trying to warm up their hands before the gong sounds.

When it does, the snow turns out to be so deep the tributes have to tredge with all their might to reach the golden Cornucopia forty yards away. Some are so small, they have snow down to their thighs and actually have to resort to crawling. Fortunately, Tiberius' tall stature allows him to be one of the first to reach the horn, and he quickly grabs a nearby bag and a sickle and heads to the woods. Half the tributes are killed in the bloodbath that day-including both from 9 and Tiberius' district partner-and a well-equipped Career pack of four divide up the supplies and begin scouring the hills for victims.

A week in, the Gamemakers set of a series of earthquakes, creating bottomless crevices that kill two tributes, and the following day, another freezes to death after a fierce blizzard.

For a boy from District 6, Tiberius proves to be pretty resourceful. In his bag, he finds a pair of goggles that enable him to see through the constant snow-storms, and to keep warm, he buries his body deep in the snow. But that's when the Games take a darker turn. The nights slowly start to get longer and longer until, eventually, the arena remains locked in a never-ending darkness. Tiberius, however, uses this to his advantage. He digs up a pit with his sickle and places carved wooden spikes on the bottom, and-making use of the constant darkness-easily lures other players to their deaths while he takes their jackets to keep warm.

After a fews days of complete darkness, the sun finally rises, but this time, it too doesn't come back down. Tiberius covers his goggles in mud and effectively cuts out most of the light as he sleeps. The Careers, on the other hand, aren't as bright and start to feel the unpleasant effects of insomnia slowly creep up on them. As the Games go on, they become increasingly more paranoid and hostile, and one-by-one, they begin to turn on each other until only one is left.

After six days of unending sunlight, a feast is announced at the Cornucopia in the hopes of rounding up the remaining three players. On the table lies only a single loaf of frozen bread, but all three charge for it. A tribute from 11 reaches it first, but before they can grab it, a knife enters their head, and their cannon goes off. The two tributes, the girl from 4 and Tiberius, are left to vie for the crown. The fight is long and bloody, but since Tiberius is much better rested than the girl, he's able to move much faster and dodges most of her attacks. Eventually, they're left facing each other, with loathing hatred in their eyes. Before she can charge him again with her knife, she stumbles and passes out in the snow from exhaustion, letting the blood pour out of her abdomen. Her cannon fires, her body is removed, and the trumpets blow to announce Tiberius' victory.

The tape flickers off and I'm left staring at the screen, still in shock by what I had just witnessed. The unfairness of putting those young kids in such an awful arena. The sadistic twist near the end that made the Careers lose their minds. That awful final fight. I definitely remember seeing certain parts during recaps on television, but never the whole thing. Now I know why he won. He was cunning, sure. But it was the fact that he held on to his sanity that set him apart.

Lynne's snoring brings me back to reality. I look over to him and see he's fast asleep.

How ironic. Well, hopefully it will bring him back to his senses tomorrow.

I gently put my blanket over his sleeping body and stuff the rest of the tapes hastily in the box beside his feet.

"Good Night, Lynne," I whisper and walk out. And sweet dreams...

By the time I've reached my room, the sun is already breaking through the mountains. I curl up anyways, attempting to salvage whatever bit of sleep I can. Of course, I'm deeply regretting having watching those Games, and when I finally do manage to close my eyes, the nightmares have already begun.


	7. The Interviews

I wake up three of four times during my slumber. Images of little kids strangling each other, falling into pits, and passing out in the snow haunt my dreams. I've slept for an hour. Maybe two, at most. I roll in my bed and find I'm still in my clothes that are all scrunched up from all the tossing and turning I'd done. There's a faint knocking sound that I think is my head throbbing, but is actually Blossom who is right outside my door. The knocking doesn't die down and I can tell she's getting agitated because the knocking slowly turns into hammering. Even with the door blocking most of the sound, I can make out Blossom's shrill voice calling my name. It must be for breakfast.

I gradually lift my head, then my chest, until I'm about halfway up. My mind is disoriented and is tugging at my muscles, urging them to lie back down and go to sleep. I know that Blossom will probably barg into my room any second, so I rub my eyes and haul myself out of bed.

"Well, finally!" she exclaims when I open the door. "Do you have any idea how long I've been shouting your name?" She looks at me and almost gasps. "My, my. You look awful."

I don't have to look in a mirror to know my hair's in a mess, my eyes are red, and I probably smell. But I ignore her and let out a loud yawn. "Morning."

"Did you even sleep last night?" she asks.

I nod, but unconvincingly because Blossom is shaking her head. "Really, Marisole. I can only imagine what Avain will say about this."

She shepherds me to the dining room. Avain is there, eyeing me with his blue eyes. I sit down, but I refuse the food. I'm not hungry. I'm so tired my brain won't let me eat. Instead, I try my hardest to suppress my drowsiness.

"Been trying to wake her up for the past hour," explains Blossom as I'm rubbing my temple. "And I found Lynne asleep in the screening room. On the _floor_ ," she says, as if the floor is contaminated. "I couldn't even get him to budge." She pours herself a drink, and I have better-sense to keep quiet even though I know it's too early for her to be drinking.

Avain's been quietly listening, but even though I've been keeping my head down, I can sense his eyes have been trained on me ever since I've sat down.

"Exactly what were they doing?" he asks, but not in irritation, more like a mixture between curiosity and amusement.

"Well, I found a box of tapes next to Lynne. Looks like they've been watching previous Hunger Games all night," she says accusingly.

"And who told you that was a good idea?" he says. I can tell he's talking to me now. I want to immediately defend Lynne and say it was my idea, but I look up to Avain and see he's not angry, at least not like Blossom, who's just about had it with me. He might actually be emphatic. He must understand what it is we're going through. Just like with my outburst of the train. I remind myself that he was in the same spot as us before. Not too long ago, really.

Before I can say something, he sighs. "Well, what's done is done. I hope you've learned your lesson."

I nod my head because I know I have. I can tell Blossom is still bothered by my behavior, and Avain's leniency hasn't helped. I mean, she's been looking out for me too, but in a different way. She's not as shallow as my prep team, for example. But she could never understand what Avain does. What it feels to be put in our situation. The constant anxiety, the sleepless nights, the effortless agitation.

"So, you'll be coaching us on our interviews today," I say in an attempt to change the mood.

"That's right," says Blossom. Although she almost spits it out through her glass, avoiding me as she says it.

"You'll get four hours with Blossom for presentation and four with me for content. You'll start with Blossom. As long you can stay awake," he stands up and heads towards the screening room. "I'll go wake up Lynne."

I can only imagine what Blossom will be teaching me for four hours, but I'm glad I'll be starting with her because it will give Lynne the chance to apologize.

I spend the whole morning with Blossom, teaching me all the proper etiquette I'll need. How to sit properly, where to place my legs, my hands, where to look. Apparently, I have a natural tendency to cross my arms and slouch, so she instructs me to place my hands on my lap and keep my back straight. It feels weird, but after much direction I'm able to sustain a somewhat reasonable position in my chair.

I can tell she's slowly forgotten about her anger with me for ruining her morning because she's much less demanding and bitter by the time we reach smiling. I can pull of a decently realistic one if I imagine I'm talking to Jackson, although it does take a lot of effort. But it's not how much I smile that's the problem, it's the way I smile.

"You're showing too much of your gums," she says, which is weird because it's the way I've been smiling my whole life, and it's never been a problem until now.

Either way, we spend the better half of thirty minutes in front of a mirror where I loosen my mouth and attempt to smile with only my teeth showing.

"Better," she says after my mouth is so sore I can barely open it anymore.

We then head to my room where I put on some high heels and a long dress, and she instructs me on walking. At first, I seem okay, just standing. But when I begin moving, I start wobbling uncontrollably and almost sprain my ankle several times. Blossom's trying to be helpful, but I can see she's trying to hold in her giggles.

"What?" I ask after falling down for the fifth time.

She covers her mouth and shakes her head. "Nothing," but her smile is still showing.

"How do you manage to do this?" I ask, kicking away the shoes in frustration.

I watch Blossom walk to the other end of the room to pick them up. "You can't be too forceful. You've gotta be more gentle. See, like this," she walks back to me while she remains in perfect balance with her blue heels, strutting effortlessly and keeping her chin up.

I become determined to master this as best as I can and we spend a good hour until I'm capable of walking to the other end of the room without any swaying. By the end of it, my feet are sore and some skin is peeling off, but I feel overjoyed to have gotten through it nonetheless.

Blossom lets out a sigh of relief. "I've done everything I can. It's up to you now," she says and goes in to hug me. "Just don't fall on your way to the stage," she adds and I roll my eyes.

After what seems like forever, it's Avain's turn to coach me on what I'll be saying. We head to the living room and he directs me to sit on couch while he stares at me in silence and begins rubbing his scar.

"Well?" I ask.

"Shh... I'm thinking," he says. "We need to find you an angle of some sort."

"Alright, well. What did you decide for Lynne?" I say inadvertently.

"Oh, Lynne's was easy." _Why does that not surprise me?_ "But, you…you're different." he says.

"How about the whole persistence thing?" I suggest, remembering he had mentioned it on the train. Although, now I think it must have been some kind of joke.

"It might have worked back then, but not anymore," he says, still deep in thought. I'm not really sure what he means, though. "It doesn't fit."

"Doesn't fit what?" I ask.

"You can't let yourself come off as hostile or distant in any way. What you need is a more sympathetic approach," he finally says.

"Sympathetic!" I say, hating the thought of it instantly.

He shushes me up. "I don't wanna hear a word. Got it? It works much better with the whole shining parade dress. People want someone to root for, and you don't have to look to pull off the whole surly appeal."

This makes me scowl in an attempt to show him I do, but he's already set in his course of action.

"So, what? I'm gonna cry and tell them I'm too young to die," I say.

"Tell me about yourself," he says, ignoring my slued comment. "Tell me all about your life in District Nine, where you grew up, your friends, everything. And don't skip on the details."

I'm initially hesitant. I'm afraid of what talking about home will do to me. I've been avoiding the thought of it and all the emotions it conjures up ever since I've arrived in the Capitol.

I take a deep breath and begin to tell him about my life, but I avoid talking about anyone in specific; not Lila, or Jackson, or Abatha. Only about growing up in the orphanage and some small anecdotes. I can tell it doesn't seem to impress Avain in the slightest.

"No, no, no. The whole orphan thing won't be enough. You need to get personal. What about people in your life?" he pries.

"I don't want all of Panem knowing about them. About _my_ life! It's private," I say, getting worked up.

"It's a t.v show, who cares? The more personal you get, the higher your chances of staying alive. Just make something up," he says. And he's right, because if I ever want to see my loved ones again, I have to do this, I have to tell him about them.

I take another deep breath. "Well, there's Lila," I pause and grit my teeth so that I can begin speaking again. "She's eleven and I've known her ever since she became my roommate. And… and she's practically like a sister to me," I say. There's an odd feeling in my gut that I have to hold in.

"Alright, good. Anyone else," he says, and I can tell by his voice he's trying to be supportive.

"Then there's Jackson. He's a year older than me and I've known him for as long as I can remember. He's my best friend, he's-" I can't speak, because I'm getting so fluster at the thought of them that I can barely go on.

"What did you talk about when they came to see you after the reaping," he asks after a long pause of me trying to recompose myself.

I have to think because it seems like ages ago. But then I know, in an instant. "I-I told Lila I'd try to win... that I'd try to win for her," I stammer. "And then Jackson-" I think back to the rose, to his confession of love for me, "-he said-he said he loved me." Tears are streaming down my face by the time I say the last words. They keep flowing until I'm sobbing like I was back on the train. I'm more confused, than I am sad. Confused at my sudden outburst of emotions. But the thought of Jackson and Lila, their faces that I can see so clearly now in my mind, are all I can think about.

I'm trying desperately to wipe the tears from my eyes, because I'm embarrassed I've let my emotions get the better of me. Again. Then I feel Avain's arms wrap around me. I let him and lean my head on his shoulders, wiping the snot from my nose.

We sit there on the couch, embraced while I bawl my eyes out for I don't know how long.

"It's okay, Marisole," he says. When I finally stop. He lets go of me and hands me some tissues.

I blow my nose several times. Another couple minutes pass by with me seated on the couch and Avain passing me more tissues until I wave my hand and signal to him that I don't need anymore.

"I'm fine," I mutter. "Let's just keep going."

"You sure, we can do this later-"

"No," I interrupt. "I'm fine, really. I just needed to get it all out of my system." Didn't Abatha tell me not to boil up my emotions once? That it was bad for me? I probably didn't listen. Boy, was she right, though. But, I'm feeling slightly better now, and I need to stay focused. "I promise I won't burst into tears during the interview," I say, wiping the last remnants of them off my face.

He looks at me for a long time before he speaks. "Let's hope so," he says.

I'm glad that when he asks me the same questions again and I answer with the same responses, I keep myself contained. I don't know what got over me, but whatever is was it's gone. Avain's initially reluctant in asking me for details, but when he sees I'm a lot more in control, he doesn't stop prying me for answers. At the end of it, we've worked out pretty much all the questions I might get asked and exactly the wording I'll use to answer them.

"Say Lila's your sister, not your roommate. It makes it sound better," he instructs.

"But she's not," I say.

"Your point being?" he says. I guess I should of seen that one coming. And yes, she might as well be.

"And try to save the whole romance thing until the end. Build up the crowd and then drop the bomb."

After my session with Avain, I head to my room and eat dinner alone. I don't want Blossom or Lynne asking me how my coaching went. I need time to relax, be alone with my thoughts.

In the morning, it's not Blossom I hear calling me out of bed, but my prep team. This whole day belongs to them, to make me look stunning for my interview, or I might as well toss all the coaching I had received yesterday out the window.

They work until late afternoon, putting me through a similar scrubbing and trimming process like the one back in the Remake Center, but spending less time gawking at my body's upkeep. They don't do as much waxing either, but focus more on turning my skin into a beautiful golden color and trimming my nails-what's left of them-into twenty perfect shapes. Then Lusthasia begins to work on my hair, which I can't say I've been washing, and has to spend a long time combing through all the knots.

"Ouch!" I say, when she practically rips out a chunk from my scalp.

"Sorry, dear. But I've never seen this kind of a mess before. We might need to add some extensions or something, because this could take all day," she says.

They add the extensions, which fortunately hides a lot of the mess, and proceed to doing my makeup. It's almost the same as the chariot ride; my glowing eyeliner, red lipstick, flawless skin, but this time there's more flare, more designs, more patterns. Not just on my face, my whole body becomes their canvas. They draw flowing brown lines down my neck, glue shiny golden gems on my arms, and paint my nails in a bright bronze finish.

All the while, they seem angsty, my prep team. No, hysterical while they work on me. I'm about to ask them what's wrong, but Brim seems to have read my mind.

"People are talking about you two," he says. "Ever since your chariot rides, then your remarkable scores."

It has certainly made an impression on me, but I have to admit, I haven't really thought about what people in the Capitol are making of it. Probably because it will only add on to my already building nerves.

"They're calling you guys the underdogs from District Nine," says Lusthasia. It doesn't really have the best ring to it, but at least the dog part seems accurate.

"Then when they see your interview dress, you'll be all they can talk about," says Brim.

"When can _I_ see it?" I ask.

As if on cue, Pryce enters the room, carrying the dress in a protective black cover.

"Here she is," exclaims Pryce. I can tell he's talking about the dress and not me. "Heavier than it looks." I watch him lay it delicately down on the table. "Close your eyes."

I do and they slide the dress on me and help me into the heels. The dress feels light on my shoulders and the heels aren't are high as the ones Blossom had given me, which sends a surge of confidence through my veins. After they're finished, they carefully guide me to what I assume is a mirror.

"Can I open my eyes?" I ask.

"One sec," says Pryce. I feel several hands adjusting the fabric and tugging at my heels. I also don't feel any of those breast cups I have been wearing previously and I'm glad Pryce had the decency to exclude them this time. Maybe Avain had told him what my approach would be and that being sexy wasn't exactly the route I was going for. Either way, I don't bring it up.

When they're finally done and one of them ties my locket around my neck, Pryce tells me to open them.

I have the same startled expression I had on my face when I saw what I looked like in my chariot dress. But this time, I don't look look pretty, or bright, or eye-catching. I look sensational. It's another brown-silk dress that hangs down to my feet, but there's beautiful golden patterns that flow so naturally all around they look like they might be moving. And the glow is still there, although in a much more subtle way. Instead, there are small yellow lights scattered around me and it's all so mesmerizing. This time, it's not a headpiece that make me shine, it's my entire body; my head, my dress, my shoes, my skin, everything.

We all stand and stare. "Didn't I tell you I'd make you shine," says Pryce finally. "It's my best work to date."

I stare at myself for a while longer. "Thank you," I say, because although I can't stomach his personality, it's his genius that makes me grateful. I look and see Brim and Lusthasia almost passing out, and for the first time since I've met them, I let out a real smile.

When I feel comfortable walking around in my dress, I head out to get prepared for tonight. The interviews takes place on a large stage constructed in front of the Training Center, where all of Panem will be listening. All will be watching. All at me. There's no place for nerves up on that stage.

We meet up with the rest of the District Nine crowd at the elevator. Percelus has also shown her talents because Lynne looks unmistakably handsome in his brown suit with the same subtle lights scattered around his coat. His hair is gelled back and his skin is the same golden color as my own. Blossom too, is wearing her best-looking wig and I kind of wince at seeing Avain dressed so formally.

We all enter, crammed up, and the elevator doors open to rest of the tributes being lined up to take the stage. The twenty-four of us will sit in a large arc throughout the interview. Unlike, our private session, the female tribute goes first, then the male. Meaning, I'll be seventeenth to go. I'm just hoping they don't get too bored, even though it is better than going last

"You nervous?" asks Lynne behind me.

"A little," I say. "You?"

"Oh, yeah," he says. _What a relief._

"Did you get to apologize to Avain yet?" I ask.

Before he can answer they call us onto the stage and the crowd explodes into a surge of applause which drowns out any possibility of conversation.

We begin to move and I try to relax and remember the advice Blossom had given me about walking in heels. It calms me down, but then I see the mass crowds of people and my heart is already beating out of my chest. It's late in the evening, but the City Circle is bright as day, with white lights blaring from every direction. It blinds me so much that I have to watch where I step. I look up and see the hanging overheads above. The highest balconies are reserved for the most prestigious Capitol citizens, whereas the elevated seating unit is meant for the Gamemakers. The stylists and prep teams take up the first row, with our mentors and escorts right behind. I'm too shrouded by fear to bother trying to find Avain's face, which for some reason I think will offer me relief.

I spot the television crews and cameras and instantly wipe my face clear and take my seat beside Lynne. I'm attempting to unruffled my dress that I had accidently sat down on when Caesar Flickerman, the legendary host who'd been doing the interviews for as long as anyone can remember, bounces onto the stage. Thanks to all the surgeries they have here, his appearance has been virtually unchanged. Same white makeup, same hairstyle, same enthusiastic voice. The only thing that changes is his suit and his hair, which he dyes a different color for each Hunger Games.

This year, his hair is dyed bright maroon, with his eyebrows and lips in the same tint. The crowd is shouting his name and Caesar takes a large bow. He starts off with his usual few jokes to the crowd, and then gets to the main spectacle. Us.

From watching the interviews all my life back home, most tributes play an angle. Sexy, smart, funny, brutal. The list goes on. And there's me. Me and my sympathetic approach. What has to blow away all those who came before me out of the water. _Just stick to the plan_ , I urge myself and plant my hands on my knees so that I can resist the urge to bite me nails.

The District 1 girl heads up to the center of the stage and joins Caesar who's seated beside her. With her curly brown hair and stunning pink dress, it's clear her angle is that of a sweet romance approach. Then the boy from 1 takes the stage and confirms what I already suspected: that him and his district partner are apparently a couple, madly in love. It takes all my effort not to roll my eyes because everyone in Panem is watching and I'm supposed to be playing the whole innocent girl thing. It's a strategy their mentors devised, I'm sure.

The whole love-sharade is so played out in the Games. Two from the same district, falling in love in the arena. How revolting. Yes, I'm going to talking about love too, but Jackson is not in this game, and he actually meant it. This, obviously, is not real. How could two tributes actually care about each other? Don't they know it will just end badly for the both of them. As it always does.

Even so, the crowd is loving it, sighing and cheering for them. Wishing them endless sympathies. That was supposed to _my_ approach! I feel my jealousy brewing inside and I hear Blossom's voice reminding me to stop crossing my arms, which I unwillingly do. Now, I have to really woo them. Great…

The tributes pass by, one-after-another. Each interview being only three minutes long and each one playing a different approach. The District 2 female-Embrose, I hear her name called-mentions her famous brother victor and promises how she'll win for him. Apparently, they show his face in the crowd and she waves and blows him a kiss. The male tribute from 4 tries to be funny, and despite Caesar's forceful laughs, he's about as funny as dead cat. The others tick down, 5, 6, 7, and I start really paying attention when they call the girl from 7 onto the stage. She walks up in her dainty white paper dress and takes her seat. The fifteen-year-old, who looks so innocent with her long black hair, is one of the biggest threats out of all of us, excluding the boy from 1. Perhaps her stylist is purposely trying to make her appear weaker, so that the others forget the ten she scored in training. So that she looks like nothing more than a silly little girl, But I can read those eyes, she's as deadly as blade. Then the red-headed girl from 8 is called. She scored a two, I think. She's quiet and answers all Caesar's questions in a soft, choppy voice. Letting her nerves show prominently.

When it's finally my turn to go sit in the center, my palms begin to sweat and my mind begins to tune out the same way it did during the reaping. I urge myself to relax because I can't let my nerves mess up my interview, not like the girl before me.

I make my way and go to shake Caesar's outstretched arm.

"Marisole, I must say you look absolutely lovely," he begins, admiring the dress. "Doesn't she, folks?" The crowd's cheers boom in response.

I smile-the way Blossom taught me-and point to Pryce in the crowd. Avain's voice is ringing in my head: _Be gracious._ "It's all thanks to my stylist. I'm so lucky I have one as talented as Pryce," I say.

A camera hones in on his face and I can tell even he is surprised by my affection, but he stands up and greets the praise with open arms.

"Yes, it's beautiful indeed," he says. "Tell me, Marisole. Have you ever worn anything so extravagant before?"

This has to be on purpose. He must know what I'll say because it all seems too perfect. Our whole underdog thing is really taking off because even Caesar is directing me to play it. I keep the momentum and carefully play my next card. I look down to the floor, then back up to face the crowd as I speak. "No. Back home. Back in the orphanage-" I pause, like how Avain had instructed, "-the only dresses we have are wrinkled and covered with holes."

I hear the crowd's awws fill the air around me and hold in a smirk.

"I bet this makes up for it," he says, placing his hand to his heart.

"It's more than I could have wished for," I say, which is followed by more appraise. I can tell I'm winning them over. Slowly and one-by-one I can see each of them with their hearts melting as I speak.

"On the topic of home," he continues after the crowd dies down a little, his eyes beaming into my own. "Anyone dear to your heart that'll be watching?"

"Well, yes. Lila. She's my younger sister, she's still eleven and she's my whole world," I say, the line memorized in my head.

"She's in the orphanage with you, I'm assuming?" asks Caesar.

"Yes," I reply instantly. "I never let her away from my side." More sighs of sympathy.

"And when she came to see you after the reaping, what did she say?" he asks, leaning in even closer.

I hear the entire City Circle is silent. Eager for my words. "She told me to win. To come back to her," I say.

"What did you say?" he asks.

"I told her I would try. That I would try to win for her," I say, feeling some emotions resurfacing and clenching my jaw hard. The crowd is loving it, and I'm sure Avain is pleased.

Caesar pretends to wipe fake tears off his face and then looks back at me. "Marisole, did anyone else come to see you?"

I pause and clear my throat. "There was one other person who came to see me," I confess. I can feel the eyes of the Capitol people glued to their screens. Hoping to catch every word I say. "A close friend of mine. His name is Jackson." I can only imagine how this must be for him, me spilling out his personal confession of love without his consent. But he must know I have no other option, no matter how despicable it is. I'm just hoping he can forgive me.

"Did he say something special?" he asks, as though it's scripted.

I see Caesar's maroon eyebrow raised in anticipation. "He... he," I let my eyes drop to the ground again and find Avain's face in the second row. I see him nodding his head and I look up to the thousands of faces in the crowd and say the lines on cue. "He told me he loved me."


	8. Dusk

I hear the buzzer ring, signaling that my three minutes is up. I can hear the crowd is losing it, eating it all up. It's not as effective as it should of been, thanks to my friends from District 1, but it still hits its mark. I'm happy and so is Avain-who I spot smiling in approval-because I've played my game, given it my all, and there's nothing left for me to do.

I rise as Caesar takes my hand and gently kisses it with his red-colored lips. The crowd is roaring and I let myself be humble; smiling back and letting my cheeks blush up. It's hard to go on acting since I'm breathing so heavily. Part of it is relief, and the other, the most immense exhilaration I've honestly ever felt in my life.

I take my seat beside Lynne as the applause dies down. I'm expecting him to make some sort of comment on my interview-as he usually does. Maybe compliment my sympathy approach, or how keeping my head down was a good touch. But he remains quiet and stares forwards, deliberately avoiding my gaze. Maybe he's jealous. Or maybe he's finally accepted that we can't be friends. That we'll be thrown into the arena tomorrow and being friendly will only make it harder once the Games begin. I guess I should be glad he's severed whatever connection we've developed since yesterday.

 _Besides, who knows what will become of us once we're in the arena?_ I hear Lynne's name called out and watch him rise to take his seat center-stage. _We'll probably start stabbing away at one another the moment we meet._

Caesar introduces him and it's obvious, the moment his interview starts, that he's a natural at this. His confidence and charisma are so second-nature I can tell he's hardly trying. In fact, he's playing so many different angles it's making my head spin. He starts off with some light jokes that has the audience laughing, and Caesar too-not like with the boy from 4 where it was clearly forced, but out of real amusement. He then talks about District 9, playing with the crowd's heart-strings, talking about how hard life is there, the sugar canes, the sweetness in the air. The crowd is loving it, just like how Blossom was back on the train. He's careful to avoid talking about his father though, or his wealth. What with the whole underdog approach that Avain's been gunning for, and the rest of Panem apparently. Meanwhile, I'm thinking about how he's out-playing me. Me and the others. Almost like he's mocking us. Shoving his charisma down our throats.  
His buzzer rings by the time his shirt is lifted and Caesar is counting his abs. I hear the hooting, the cheering, the applause, and know I've been bested. Bested in everything. Ever since I've left District 9. From our appeal to the crowd, to our training scores, and now our interviews. All my effort-from mentioning Lila, to my announcement of love-is rendered frail in comparison to his wit, his humor, and his charm.

He sits back down, the crowd still cheering when he takes his seat. Others are eyeing him too, but not because they're jealous we have better stylists-like at the stables-but because Lynne has proven to be a threat. A real one. Because with his nine in training and his winning over the crowd, sponsors will surely been tripping over themselves to get to him.

Lynne seems unfazed by the glances he's getting and reverts to staring forwards, ignoring us all. I have so much anger, so many thoughts jumbling around in my head, I don't bother to pay attention to anyone who comes after. I don't care. Because everything I think I know about Lynne seems to have been shaken from its foundation. One moment I think he's trying to constantly deceive me, pretending to be friends. The next he's this sweet, innocent boy with nightmares like me who actually is trying to be my friend, and now I'm not really sure what he is. Friend. Foe. I don't know. Because all I know is he's the deadliest person in my life right now. More than the boy from 1, Embrose, or even the girl from 7. Not because he's stronger or more skilled than they are, but because we're so close, we both know so much about one another. And he'll have a steady stream of sponsors helping him out.

A reassuring thought suddenly pops into my head .I grit my teeth and let out a half-smile. _We'll see where we stand once we're in the arena. Because the second I get my hands on a bow, I'll shoot first and ask questions later._

I hear the anthem playing, bringing me back to my senses, and I know the interviews have concluded. We each get up and file back into the Training Center lobby and head into the elevators. I don't speak, and neither does Lynne. We both stare out and watch the people below shrink to the size of insignificant dots as we spring up. We reach the ninth floor and the rest of crew follows shortly behind. They begin praising us again, talking about how pretty we looked in our outfits, the way we handled our interviews so well. I ignore them and smell the food coming from the dining room and decide head to the table. Everyone else follows. I kick off my heels, but I don't bother removing any of the glitter, or gems, or shiny gold nail polish. I stuff myself and let Blossom eye me with unease.

After dinner, we watch the recap in the living room. My interview, then Lynne's. On screen, I see just how much he's bested me. I don't let my anger brew because a single thought keeps me all my emotions at bay. That of a bow in my hands, and sending an arrow into Lynne's heart.

After the anthem, everyone remains silent. Tomorrow the Games will start and we need to be roused and prepped. The actual Games don't start until ten in the morning, but Lynne and I need to get an early start so that we can travel to the arena that has been prepared for this year. And the more sleep I get, the better.

Avain and Blossom won't be accompanying us tomorrow. They'll be at the Games Headquarters, ready to be signing up our sponsors and be figuring out ways to send the gifts to us in the arena. It will be Pyrce and Percelus who will travel with us the Launch Room. They'll be the last ones we'll see. Therefore, final goodbyes must be said now.

Blossom hugs Lynne first, then me. It isn't like her usual hug. It's a strong, resonant one that's filled with care and sorrow. When I hug her back, I know I'll actually miss her somewhat.

"Take care, Marisole," she whispers to me.

"I'll try," I whisper back.

Then I see Avain wobble up to us. He looks to us with the same blue eyes I've come to know so well.

"Listen up," he says, his eyebrows knit is a serious stance. "There's no telling how the supplies will be laid out this year. But when the gong sounds, only go in if you know you can make it out alive. If not, clear out and find a source of freshwater. Work from there."

We both nod, because we don't know what else to say. It's all been said.

I don't want to think about how the supplies will be strewn out once the Games begin because my mind is stuck thinking on the year when there were no weapons at all.

I shake away my thoughts and watch Avain depart with Blossom and decide to do the same. Lynne walks with me to my room, but we remain silent. When I'm about to enter, I hear his voice stop me in my tracks.

"Marisole," he says. I see he's at a loss for words, which I find so unlike him. Eventually he just shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

I stare at him for a moment in confusion. Before I can say anything he departs into his room and I'm left standing in the hall.

I wander mindlessly into my bed, with Lynne's final words still floating around in my head. _I'm sorry_. What does he have to be sorry for? That he bested me? Sure, but it's not like it was his fault. I would have done the same thing. He was thinking about himself, and when faced with life and death, who can blame him? Maybe he's trying to throw me off again, play with my heart-strings like he did with those of the Capitol. But then I know that's probably untrue. He must of noticed my distance after his interview and assumed I got jealous. But there's no point in making amends now. There's no point in being friendly at all, really. Now I know, in the arena there are no friends, only foes..

I shake my head hard. So hard it makes my eyes hurt.

I decide to take a shower. I need to wash myself off anyhow. The sound of the faucet streaming down diverts my thoughts away. I scrub the layer of golden paint off my skin, wash the makeup from my face, and scrape away the rest of my nail polish. I stand naked in the shower, letting the hot water beat down on my neck until a thick steam fills the room. I don't want to go to bed. I don't want to be up all night thinking about Lynne, about home, about being in the Games tomorrow. I simply want to stand here and let the water envelope my thoughts. But I know I can't do that. Because this will be the last night where I'll be safe, with no one hunting me, and I need all the rest I can get.

I step out and shiver at the touch of the cold tiles beneath my feet. A fan below blows me dry and I'm stuck wishing it could blow my thoughts away too. I put on a nice, comfortable nightgown, tip-toe to my bed, and slip into my sheets. I position my head so that the window is in my view. Lights are still on outside. I can hear the people still gathered down in the streets. I even hear cars honking and fireworks bursting in the distance.

I reflexively grip the locket on my neck. I'm hesitant about opening it, because the last time I did was when Abatha had shown me it. The picture of my mother. Around the same age as me. Her brown hair and beautiful brown eyes. Gone. Dead. Leaving me alone in that orphanage all by myself. It probably wasn't her fault. She must've starved to death, my father too. Maybe she'd been caught stealing. Because, like me, she had no other choice. Or maybe it was some other horrible and unfair end that I never want to know about. But I wonder how it would've been like to have met her. At least once. So that I can hear her voice, and hold her hand. Just once. But maybe I should be grateful. Because if I had never ended up in the orphanage, then I never would of met Jackson, or Lila. Or even Abatha.

Abatha! Our last conversation instantly comes to mind: her giving me the locket and my confusion to her having it. I was too distressed then to get a clear answer from her, but she would know. She knew my mother, I'm absolutely certain of it. That's why she's been so caring towards me. She has been like a mother to me, I have to admit. Although, I'm sure she'd be able to tell me about my real mother. What she was like, how her voice sounded. I can ask her, once…

Then I realize what awaits me.

I move from the view of the window and lie on my back, staring hopelessly into the ceiling above. I count my exhales and feel my eyes start to get heavy. I think back to Caesar's maroon coat. The red color from his hair and his eyebrows, and even his lips as he spoke. And, without control, the rose pops into my head, and me holding it by the stem. It's bright, almost unnatural red color.

Then my heart drops. I'm on the farm, next to the orchid tree. But it's deserted. The log lays on the ground and the shivering wind blows endless white flowers into the air. I'm all alone, not a person in sight. It's foggy and cold and I don't know where I'm going. I do recognize the large wooden fence to my left. I keep walking, with no control of my legs. I catch the smell of the poisonous powder enter my nose, creep deep inside my brain. I can't stop smelling it though, no matter how disgusting it is because another smell soon enters my nose. My heart stops beating this time. The all-but-too familiar smell of rotting flesh fills my nostrils. I keep walking and spot it. Lying a few feet away, but not outside the fence, instead, right in front of me. The fox. It notices me too and looks up to me. I peer into its eyes in horror and notice its black, empty eye sockets. Then blood begins to pour out of them and I fall asleep.

Pryce's knocking wakes me up. I'm frozen in fear, petrified by the dreams I've now forgotten. Then I realize what today has in store and another wave of fear hits me even harder.

Somehow, I find the strength to get up and get dressed. When I'm finished putting on my pants, I spot a shimmer of glass in the corner of my eye. The bouquet, with the once dazzling and lively flowers, is now a graveyard. All of them are dead, shriveled up and lifeless. They hang from the sides, petals torn apart like lost limbs, and laying motionless down on the nightstand. They haven't been watered in days. Neglected by me.

 _Oh well._

I look away and meet Pryce outside.

"Let's go, kiddo," he says and guides me to the roof. I know my final preparations will be done in the catacombs under the arena, so he doesn't critic my choice of wardrobe. When we enter the roof, the sun is still half-way up the horizon. A strong wind is blowing and I'm relieved to be outside in the open air after what feels like an eternity in that stuffy room. I hold onto this moment, cherishing this feeling of rejuvenation as much as I can. It might bring me some strength in the days to come. Eventually, a hovercraft appears out of thin air and a ladder drops down. I place my hands and feet on the lower part and I'm frozen into place. It sends my heart racing when it lifts me up into the air and safely inside, blocking my final view of the real world.

The ladder doesn't release me once I'm inside. Instead, a women in a white coat approaches me carrying a syringe. I stare at her as she injects it into my arm. "This is your tracker," she says.

There's a sharp pain as the needle inserts the tracking device deep into my skin so that the Gamemakers can track my every move in the arena.

When the tracker's in place, the ladder releases me. The woman disappears and Pryce is lifted inside from the roof. A small Avox boy directs us to a room where breakfast is laid out. I robotically eat as much as I can. Even though my stomach feels like the size of an acorn, I know I'll need all the energy I can.

The ride is about a half hour long before the windows black out, meaning we're nearing the arena. I almost choke when I consider all the possibilities awaiting me. Where will they throw us into? A desert? A barren tundra? A massive ocean with no land in sight? I remind myself that wherever it is they put us, I know there will be trees. There's always trees. Without them, the Games resolve too quickly: tributes freeze to death, or too many are killed too soon, since there's no means of concealment otherwise. Trees will offer me some comfort. That way I can hide. But who knows what traps the Gamemakers have hidden. The mutts and traps they've devised to liven the slower moments and bring us together.

The hovercraft lands and Pryce and I go back to the ladder, but this time, it leads into a tube underground. Into the catacombs beneath the arena. We reach the chamber for my preparation, the Launch Room. Everything is brand-new and I know this place will only be used once. No arena is the same, and all are kept as sacred historical sites after the Games are over. Like the one I'm about to enter right now, no matter if I live or die.

I decide to shower and brush my teeth. It's so hard to keep still however, and I have to order myself to stop shaking. I clench my fist. It helps a bit, but I'm grasping so hard it's cutting off my circulation. After I step out, Pryce fixes my hair and then the clothes arrive in a simple white box. Every tribute wears the same one. Pryce helps me into the undergarments: simple brown pants, a light blue blouse, a belt, and a thick-black jacket with the distinctive District 9 brown stripe running down the middle.

"It seems like might be cold up there," he says. This make my stomach drop. The thought of the Gamemakers putting us in a snow-covered wasteland is unbearable. I think back to Tiberius' Games where the snow was down to their thighs. All those deaths at night from the blizzards.

Then I see the boots, worn over warm wool socks, with sturdy leather and bumpy soles that have good friction for hiking up steep inclines. Mountains, maybe? Hills or rocky cliffs? Who knows, I'll find out soon enough.

When I'm all dressed and ready, Pryce pulls out my golden locket hidden in the inside of my shirt and lets it dangle in his hands. He examines it curiously and places it back so that's it's safely hidden away.

"Don't step off the plate," he says simply. "Before the countdown."

I nod my head even though I don't need him to remind me.

I remain silent because I hate this. I hate that Pryce will be the last person I might ever talk to. All his brilliance can wither up and die for all I care because I don't want him to be here. I'd rather anyone else. My prep team even, Blossom or Avain. But no, I'm stuck with Pryce. The one I despise the most. And right as I'm about to be sent into the arena. This must be some sort of sick joke, throwing him on me. I can tell he doesn't want to be here either. That's it's uncomfortable for him too. That he'd rather be back to doing whatever his usual morning entails. Instead of waiting here for me to die.

We both stay seated on the couch. There's a glass of water on the table and I take little sips of until it's bone dry. I chew my nails apart while I wait and grip my hands together, squeezing them tighter than I ever have before. I don't know how long we wait, it feels like an hour. I don't eat because I can't force my mouth to open wide enough. Plus, I'm sure I'd vomit up any food in an instant. Instead, I resort to tapping my foot uncontrollably while I wait for the call.

"Remember what Avain told you," he says, noticing my distress.

I don't reply. I try to focus of Avain's words, his last piece of advice. But then a pleasant female voice interrupts my thoughts, announcing that it's time to prepare for launch.

I walk over to the circular metal plate, holding my breath with each step I take. My pupils widen as I approach. When I finally reach my tube, I stand as straight as I can, like there's a metal rod in my spine. I feel my goosebumps and see whatever hair is left on my wrists rise up. I don't glance back. I don't want Pryce's face to be my last memory if I die. His terrifying white eyes.

After a few seconds, the cylinder begins to rise. I'm in complete darkness for about fifteen seconds. My heart is racing like a dog, like it's attempting to break out from my chest. Then I feel the metal plate pushing me out of the cylinder and into the clear air. My eyes are momentarily blinded by the sunlight and I catch the scent of flowers and a cool, steady breeze.

Then I hear the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, begin to speak with a loud blare all around me.  
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Eight-eighth Hunger Games begin!"


	9. The Bloodbath

The first thing I'm conscious of is the beautiful pink sky with fluffy white clouds drifting above. The second is the panic at the thought of having only sixty seconds to clear my head, get my bearings, and figure out a plan of action. Sixty seconds to determine if I will fight or flee. Live or die. As Pryce had mentioned, if I step off my plate a second too early, the landmines below my feet will blow me to pieces, and it wouldn't be a first.

I shake myself to my senses. We're on a wide, open stretch of green grass. To my right lies a massive blue lake with a crystalline river running through and disappearing into the thick woods behind me. In front of me, as far as I can see, is a lushious flower meadow with colors ranging from pink, to white, to blue. To my left and above the treeline lies a vast mountain range with what looks like two protruding peaks covered in snow.

Then I notice the other tributes. All of us arranged in a ring facing the Cornucopia. All the same distance from the large, giant golden horn shaped like a cone planted forty yards away and towering twenty feet in the air. Its tail is slightly curved and always points to North. It's mouth spilling over the various things that will keep us alive here in the arena. Food, bottles of water, medicine, matches for starting fires, tents that can withstand any sort of weather. Each year the supplies are organized differently. Some years it's all stuffed in the mouth, others it's scattered around the edge. This year, the weapons are placed in a large circle situated in the center, with bags and crates piled neatly in the middle.

To my left is the girl from District 11. To my right, the boy from 7. I think. I don't know either of their names and it doesn't matter because I know my time is ticking down. My heart drops at the thought.

 _Focus, Marisole!_ I order myself.

My eyes rapidly rummage through the countless metallic blades, spears, and maces, until I narrow in on a silver bow and a matching sheath of arrows. It's far away. On the complete opposite side of the circle, in fact. Strung and ready to use.

 _Except not by me._

Avain's words echo in my head. "Only go in if you know you can make it out alive." Yes, but that bow is my only salvation. If I don't get to it now, there's no guarantee someone else won't snatch it up. Like the Career Tributes, the ones who survive the bloodbath, and will divide up the rest of the spoils for themselves.

I peer over to the boy from 1, three tributes from my right, eyes honing in on a sword in front of him. That eleven he scored in training pops into my head, and then I notice the twenty-two other tributes, most of who are reading to sprint. I might be faster than some of them, but what if say, one gets to a weapon before me. I'll never me able to defend myself, not at that close range. They'll overpower me. Shove me to the ground and beat me to a pulp.

I know the minute must almost be up and I need to figure out a strategy, but my mind is stuck staring at the bow. Resting firmly on a knoll of crates. The arrows just waiting to be engaged. Just tempting me to wrap my fingers around them! Then the words flutter back. _If you know you can make it out alive._ I'm not so sure I will. Not with this set-up. It's too dangerous. There's no way I'll make it out alive.

When the gong rings out I don't hesitate. I jump off my plate and run. Not towards the horn, or the crates, or the bow, but towards the woods. Towards the deep, dark pines. I sprint as fast as my legs will let me, not looking back. Not a single thought in my head expect to put as much distance between myself and the others. As I approach the treeline, which is now only a few feet away, I look down at my hands. Weaponless. Defenseless. I look back to the forest and see the dense array of bushes and shrubs. There's no telling what lies beyond these trees, and I've given up all those precious supplies back at the horn. I've tossed away my only chance at getting a bow, and now I'll have to face whatever awaits me with only my bare hands to protect me and a jacket to keep my warm. For a moment, my mind becomes torn and my feet slow down and begin to shuffle in an unknown direction, unsure of which way to go. Go back? No, I can hear them behind me. The screaming, the moaning, the clashing of blades with metal. Keep running? I see the darkened foliage hidden in the shadows and the ominous feeling it gives me. Then, in the corner of my eye, right at the edge of the plain, I see a mass thicket of bushes. The shrubbery of which so clumped together it can keep an entire person well hidden, so long as someone doesn't come too close. I grit my teeth hard, so hard they might shatter, and an impulse surges through my body and I plunge full-speed into the plants.I hit the ground hard, land flat on my chest, and position myself carefully to see. There's cuts on my face from when the thorns pierced my skin, but I hardly feel any pain. I hold my breath, even though I know it makes no difference whatsoever, but it makes it easier to come to terms with what I've just done. Because now I have to watch.

As a result of years of watching the Games on television, I'm no stranger to the gore of the initial bloodbath, but now that I'm given an up-close and personal view, where anyone can spot me and chop me to bits, it makes it all so much more surreal. The bloody chaos unfolding before me is overwhelming, but the urge to watch is so irresistable my eyes won't let me blink. More than a dozen or so tributes are fighting, scrambling for supplies, or lying dead on the ground. Those who aren't fleeing are hacking away at one another, armed with blades, or clubs, or their own massive fists. I watch a girl get stabbed in the stomach with a sword while another is crawling away and I see the girl from 1 pull out a cruel-looking knife and gut their throat, letting the blood spew out from their neck, another heads for the mountains, but a spear stops them dead in their tracks. It's all so awful, so disturbing, so retching, but I can't look away. I can't look away because amidst all the mayhem, I spot the bow, still in the same spot and shining brightly in the rays of the sun; like it's shouting my name. Calling out for me to reach for it. But I remain planted to the ground, not daring to shift my weight and risk the chance of someone spotting me. I begin to panic as I watch a boy pick it up, but before he can escape, a trident is thrown into his face. I watch the sheath fly out of his hands and scatter the arrows across the ground. The bow still clutched in his cold, dead fingers.

I watch the others-those who are still alive-bolt into the woods. Most are heading towards the mountains to my side, perhaps hoping the high ground will offer them some sort of advantage. Ten minutes pass. Then twenty. Thirty. But the fighting doesn't stop, the remaining few are still brawling it out. They're like a pack of fierce, hungry wolves. Each holding their ground. Some are sniffing the air, while others are cowering in fear. Some have their tails wagging, darting for food on all fours. Some try to flee, limping away in pain, and licking their wounds profusely. Others have their teeth snared, ripping away at their opponent's flesh. A pack is now forming. Howling and grouping together as they attempt to finish off the rest. An alpha male takes the lead, with his fur covered in thick, red blood. They encircle the last, helpless lone wolf, crying for help, reaching no one's ears but their own. Mouths flare and in a instant, their eyes turn to void. Darkened forever.

The sun is high up in the sky when the fighting finally stops and the remaining wolves, a pack of five, catch their breaths and survey the field. What was once a beautiful verdant meadow, is now littered with countless bodies staining the grass. Limbs are severed and wounds are open, some still gushing out uncontrollably. I remain in my thicket. Well hidden. I look away for a brief moment to see birds fluttering overhead. When I look back, I see the pack stabbing their weapons to the raw flesh, making sure they're all dead. They're weak, some of them. From here I can see they're exhausted, with gashes across their faces and arms. But that's no matter. Now that the rest are gone, they'll have the supplies all to themselves. The bandages, the gauzes, the painkillers. They don't even need to worry about getting cold or going hungry either, not for a long time.

The Careers scan through the supplies, picking out their weapons and hoisting bags of choice on their shoulders. All I can do is wait for them to leave and figure out a way of getting to that bow. I can only imagine the air-time I'm getting right now. My face probably on screen this very moment. I can hear Claudius Templesmith talking with his guest hosts, certainly wondering what ingenius plan I've come up with by hiding in these bushes. Honestly, I hadn't planned anything out at all. I hadn't thought this far ahead. I was just acting out of impulse. I really don't know what I'm expecting to happen. Once they leave, the hovercrafts will appear to collect the bodies. And if I don't get to it soon, the boy and the bow will be transported out of this arena and be gone for good. I just need to figure out some sort of strategy to get to it before that happens.

The sound of raised voices breaks my train of thought. I look over to the boy from 4, crouched down over a corpse, holding a pair of bloody hands in his own. The others appear to be arguing about something, but from this distance, I can only make out certain parts.

"Give him some more time," says the boy from 2.

"The sun will start going down. We don't have time," I catch Embrose say, her hands clutching two large axes.

The boy from 4 still doesn't move, he's staring at the dead girl's body and shaking his head.

"Leave her, she's dead. She was never much use to us anyways," says the boy from 1.

Now I understand who they're talking about. Who's lying on the ground. The girl from 4. His district partner. It's kind of a surprise to find out she's been killed. Usually _all_ the Careers make it through the first day. But then I remind myself of her small-physique. Her low training score. They all knew it. They knew she didn't fit in. It was her district partner who kept her company. Who tried to include her into their table back in the Training Center. I can't say I feel sorry for him. The Career Tributes are universally hated by all except those from their own district. For all I care, they can slowly starve to death. But even so, the boy from 1's remorse is rather cold. It's not something you'd expect to hear from someone who's supposed to madly in love with italics his district partner.

I can see the boy from 4 is hesitant, but after a long while, he closes her eyes and gets back to his feet. Knowing that furthering the argument would only be futile, if not dangerous.

After their argument is finished, I watch as they begin to herd all the supplies inside the horn. This takes another long while and after it's all done, they string a single thin wire on both sides of the entrance. For a while, I have no idea what they're doing. The sun's blaring down and it's blinding my eyes, but I can see they're definitely working hard on something. It's hard to see from where I am, but I come to the conclusion that they must be placing down traps of some sort. That way if anyone comes back after they've left, they'll get a poisoned dart sent to their heart, or they'll fall into a pit filled with snakes, or they'll be blown up into the sky.

Yes, how very smart of them. That way they can assure the bags and weapons will remain untouched after they leave. That if someone comes back, they'll be a sure kill. From watching previous Hunger Games, this usually happens after the bloodbath. But I don't need any of those bags or weapons. I only need one thing. A bow. A bow that they might put behind that wire! All of a sudden, I begin to panic at the thought it. Once it's there, there's no way I'll get to it. It will make all my efforts pointless and I've wasted so much time.

 _Stupid! How stupid of you!_

I'm so furious with myself for not having figured this out sooner. Now I'll look like a complete fool. In front of the entire nation too! No one in their right mind would sponsor such a dumb, clueless girl who's been too afraid to enter the woods and has resorted to hiding in a bush while everyone else has already fled! What was I thinking? No, I wasn't thinking. I thought that somehow, out of some stroke of luck, I'd maybe be able to snatch it while they weren't looking, or that maybe they'd hide it somewhere like in a pit and I'd go and dig it up after they've left. But the Careers are sharper than I thought. They must have foreseen this exact situation. The Careers! The arrogant, ruthless, mindless tributes, have actually outsmarted me!

The feeling of emptiness, frustration, sadness, and hopelessness all mix together and I let my eyes tune out everything around me; giving up all hope and deciding it best to stay here because I can't go into the woods now. I have nothing, and those who had the better sense to flee have already been scouring the forest for hours. If I run into anyone out there, I'll be killed.

Now I've done it! Now I'm as good as dead!

I let my eyes drift back to the Careers who are double-checking any flaws in their traps. I watch the boy from 2 pick up the discarded arrows, place them in the quiver, and put it on top of the boy with the bow.

A sarcastic grin crosses my face. _Oh, how very thoughtful of him_.

I'm waiting for them to gather the weapons still clinging to the arms of the fallen tributes and place them with the rest of the items inside the horn, but it never happens. Instead, like the arrows, they continue to place the discarded weapons on top of the bodies. I don't really care anymore what they do. I feel so hopeless that I can't find the strength to devise any sort of strategy anymore. That bow _was_ my strategy. I look over to it. For some reason it still hasn't been picked up. Like they're ignoring it almost, because It's still clutched in the dead boy's hands. I mean, What are they waiting for? The hovercrafts will appear and then…then... My brain lights up. One thing connects to the other and before I know it my eyes widen.

 _Yes! How very thoughtful of them!_

A beaming sense of hope fills my lungs. All the anguish I've felt disappears in an instant, because I know what they're doing. They're giving me a window of opportunity. See, unlike with most of the supplies that were untouched during the bloodbath and placed inside the Cornucopia, the weapons and bags that were used by the currently dead tributes are left on top of their bodies. I guess it's because neither of them have any use for those things, and it doesn't matter because when the hovercrafts come to take the bodies away, all those discarded weapons will be permanently taken away from the arena.

I'll give it to them. That's smart. Clever, actually. But there's one small little flaw in their plan. The hovercrafts will only appear once the killers have dispersed, and for those weapons to be collected, they'll need to clear out. Meaning I'll only have a couple of seconds to get to the bow.

Apparently, I'm not the only who to have figured this out, because I notice some of the Career tributes scanning the vicinity, not committed to leaving just yet.

"We should wait a little longer," says the boy from 1.

"For what?" says Embrose impatiently. "You know what will happen if someone trips that wire." _I can only imagine_. "Just leave it alone, Treck."

I see him eyeing the horn and the bounty amassed inside, unable to let it leave his sight. He's obviously unsure about what to do and the possibility of a tribute coming back is very probable, but he must assume that the rest of us are too busy focusing on distancing ourselves as much as possible from the Cornucopia because he eventually nods his head.

"Alright. Where should we start?" he asks scanning the meadow.

The Careers begin glancing around too, unsure of which direction to take. It must be nice not having to worry about running into the woods all alone. I'd feel pretty unsure myself, what with the safety of the Cornucopia in view.

Eventually, I see the girl from 1 point to the mountains. "Over there. I think that's where most of them ran off to," she says.

From here I see their expressions change to ones of delight and impatience. The blood of their victims still staining their clothes. Their handing, firmly gripping the weapons they're just itching to use. It sends my heart thumping in fear.

"Then let's go visit the mountains," snickers the boy from 2. His remark sends sinister looks flashing through the eyes of his comrades.

I see the boy from 1 snatch a long metal spear planted in the ground. "We'd better hurry. The longer we wait, the harder it'll be to track them down."

"I bet they're all running scared out there. I can't wait to see the look on their faces when we find them," adds Embrose, hoisting a large brown bag on her shoulders.

"Let's go," says the girl from 1.

They all nod again and gather their stuff. After surveying the area one last time, hands clutching their spears and their swords, they sprint full speed into the woods facing the mountains and disappear into the thick foliage.

I let myself exhale. _Now is my chance_ , I grin.

I wait for five minutes, counting down the seconds in my head to make sure the coast is absolutely clear. No matter how tempting it is, I can't risk the possibility of them coming back for any reason. After five minutes, and no more, I get up from my bush, look around, and dart towards the boy's body. I'm running faster than I ever have before because I'm very much aware that the danger I'm putting myself in right now is unimaginably astronomical.

I pass the pedestales where we all started the Games and pause to look around for a brief second, but the thought of the hovercrafts appearing gets me running again immediately. I make sure to stay a safe distance away from the mouth of the Cornucopia, just in case I accidently activate a hidden pressure plate or something. I hop over the body of a dismembered girl and practically collide into the unidentifiable boy's corpse with blood oozing out of the holes in his face. I know I must be quick because the hovercrafts won't appear until I'm gone and the Careers might suspect something is off and come back. I pry the bow out of his hand and pick up the sheath of twelve arrows off his stomach. I get up and risk grabbing only a small, black backpack soaked in blood a few feet away that I had initially passed because I'm so scared they'll come back. Come back and see I've outsmarted them and their traps. Cut me up like the tributes I see lying on the ground beneath my feet. I hoist both straps on my shoulders, wrap the quiver over top, and sprint back into the woods with the bow clenched tightly in my hands. I head towards my previous position, passing the thicket. I'm too afraid to even look back.

I keep sprinting, and when I become completely engulfed in trees, the cannons start to fire. Each shot representing a fallen tribute. Since it's the opening day and there's so many deaths, it's hard to keep track of all the fatalities. Instead, they fire them all at once after the initial bloodbath is over. Like with the hovercrafts, they must have been waiting for me to leave before they could begin, probably because there was still the huge possibility of the Careers coming back and killing me. I don't allow myself to stop running as I count the shots. One...pant...two...pant...three. On and on until they reach eight. Eight dead so far. That's not an awful lot. I was expecting more, especially after the bloody sight I had witnessed. Maybe because the bodies were so disfigured and cut up, it must've looked like there were more than there actually were. Either way, I was too preoccupied getting to the bow that I hadn't even payed attention to who was among the casualties.

Suddenly, Lynne's face pops into my head. Was he among them? Bled out and lifted away for good, Sent to the Capitol to be cleaned up and shipped away in a wooden box back to District 9. I try my hardest to recall whether or not I had seen his distinctive blond hair somewhere after the gong rang out, but there was so much blood, so many corpses, there no way I can know for sure. All I can think about is the boy who took my bow. How he gave me the opportunity to get my hands on it. I ought to thank him, really. Had he not done so, the Careers would have surely placed it in the horn with the rest of the supplies. Then I remember his death. That trident impaling into his eyes…

I continue running. The forest around me slowly begins to slant downhill and the trees become more spread out. I don't like this, but I keep moving, stopping for only a few minutes to listen for any unusual sounds. For the next while I alternate between a light jog and walking. I don't check the contents of my bag just yet. Even though I've given myself a huge advantage by going back and grabbing the bow, I now have to be extra careful. Those who fled right away have been roaming the woods for hours. For all I know, I could run straight into an enemy at any point. Letting my guard down too early could very well result in my end in this game.

After I've traveled a fair enough distance, and there's no one around, I decide to stoop down on the side of a mossy tree and take a break. I look up through the canopy and spot the blue sky peering out though the branches above. It's mid afternoon, I think. It's hard to tell without a clear view of the sun. Then I could use the shadows of the trees to be more accurate. That's how we'd know break would be approaching back on the farms. But there's no sun. Only shade and an ever growing current of frigid air from the mountains.

I lean my bow on the side of the tree and decide it best to go through my bag before nightfall hits. Fortunately, the blood has dried, but the smell is still there. I need to wash it off as soon as I can. I don't want to attract any unwanted predators tonight. I flip open the flap and unhook the straps. Inside, I find a half-empty water bottle, a serrated knife blade, a roll of bandages, a pack of dried fruit, and a small green sleeping bag. It's not much, but I'm grateful for the water. I won't last very long without it, but I need to find more. This will last me a day at most, and I need a steady source like a stream or a pond. I think back to the lake I had seen back at the Cornucopia. Then I remember the river running into the woods. These woods. It's here. Somewhere. I just need to find it.

For now, I should probably get moving, considering that there's still fifteen other tributes alive, but I remain on the ground. I'm not really sure what to do. I scan the forest around me. Back on the ride to the arena, I thought trees would offer me some relief, but now that I'm here, I can't say I'm particularly fond of being in them. In District 9, they're usually hidden behind a fence. People avoid the woods because it's where the animals live. Also, these trees aren't ones I recognize, they're strangely tall and have an almost charcoal-colored bark. Not like the light brown pines we have back home. Then there's the birds that I had initially thought were pigeons, but now that I see them through the canopy and they're much closer, I can make out their brown feathers and distinctive sharp claws. I get an uncomfortable thought that they might be circling me and it quickly sends me back to my feet.

I decide the smartest thing for me to do right now is hunt. It'll be dark soon and I might as well make use of my time. I pause for a moment. The very thought of hunting, however, seems bizarre to me. Usually the animals were hunting _me_. I only killed them as a way to protect myself. I've never had to actually search for one. It would be foolish. It would be like asking for trouble. But now that I'm in here, I have no other choice. The only way I'll stand a chance against my opponents is if I can run and shoot. And I won't be able to do either of those things unless I'm well fed. And who knows how long these Games could last? Tributes starving to death isn't very uncommon.

I take a deep breath and pack my things.

I decide to stick to small area around the tree I was resting on. I carefully scan the woods for any signs of game, checking the branches above, the clumps of ferns and bushes below me. I try my hardest to watch where I step in case my lumbering body sends animals scampering away. Fortunately, the ground below my feet is covered in moss and pine needles, masking the heavy sound of my boots. As a result, it doesn't take long before I spot a fluffy brown squirrel nested on the black branch of a nearby tree. I instantly hold my breath and bite my lip. It's maybe a yard away, but I'm not confident enough that'll be able to hit it from where I am. It's much smaller than the foxes and wolves back home. So, I stealthily approach the creature, making sure to place my feet down as gingerly as I can manage and slowly aim my bow. I'm glad that when I do, I don't have to worry about it being too stiff. I wonder whether it's because the Gamemakers took note of my struggle back in my private session.

I didn't know they were so caring.

I pull the string back until it rests by my lip. Suddenly, a thought pops into my head. The thought of all the cameras pinned on my face watching me attempt to kill this one little squirrel. I remind myself that I can't let myself miss. Not only will I lose an arrow for good, but the sponsors won't stop laughing at me if I do. I need them to see that I can hunt. That I'm a good bet.

I muster up all the confidence I can gather from every inch of my body and hold breath. As I'm letting it out, I let the arrow fly. I see it plant itself into the fluffy fur and I sigh with relief. Its body falls gently onto the cushioned ground below. Lifeless. I didn't come close to its head-which I was aiming for-but I'm still overjoyed because I know that a kill is a kill. I feel so so proud of myself it's making me all excited.

I head over to the tree and pick it up. I yank the arrow out of the flesh and pull out the knife from my belt. It's not a big squirrel, but once I cook it it will be enough to keep me going. Of course, I'll have to skin it before I do. The thought makes me gag a little.

Skinning animals isn't something I ever liked to do, but we all had to do it after we took one down. That way, the Peacekeepers could take it and sell the fur. But I don't risk starting a fire now, it's too dangerous. I'll have to cook it tomorrow morning.

By the time I've skinned it, and toughened it out through the smell, I notice the sun beginning to set. I carefully cover the guts under a patch of moss and place the squirrel inside the plastic bag of dried fruit, since there's nowhere else to put it. It's too late to try finding a source of water so I make it my first task as soon as I wake up. Unfortunately, that means I won't be able to wash my bag, so I cover it up with dirt and hope it will be enough to mask the stench.

Afterwards, I settle down in a clump of bushes next to a tree. I'm doubtful any one will see me here, but as a precaution, I carry a few fallen branches and lay them out for some extra cover. I make sure my bow is well hidden in the bushes and decide to keep the knife in my hand while I sleep, in the event that I might need to use it during the night.

As I'm arranging my sleeping bag, I hear a cannon fire in the distance. Nine gone, fifteen left to play. With so many of us left alive, it's impossible to tell what caused it. Another tribute? A mutt? Although, it's probably the Careers who are now certainly hunting us down with their torches and flashlights and night vision goggles. I'm relieved to know they headed towards the mountains. Odds are they won't be a problem for me tonight. And even if they do cross over to here, this green sleeping bag will be enough to camouflage me well in the foliage.

I tuck myself in and place the hood of my jacket over my head. I grip the knife blade and stare up through the trees overhead. Night is approaching and all I can do is wait for the anthem where they'll project the images of the fallen tributes into the sky.

The events of the day replay in my head while I wait. I must have gotten my fair share of attention. No doubt. People will have known I was hiding in the bushes the entire time. They'll have seen me waiting for the Careers to leave and race for the bow. They'll know I outplayed them. They'll think I had devised the plan from the get-go. That I knew the Careers would slip up by placing the weapons on the bodies and giving me the opportunity to snatch it up. Of course, none of that is true. None of that was part of my plan. But they won't know that. More importantly, the sponsors won't know that. They'll think I'm a cunning tribute armed with a weapon of choice who can also hunt, and that's far better than any training score or interview could give me.

This sends a smile across my face, but then I notice how dry my lips are and pull out my water bottle from my bag. I know that my supply is scarce, so I take small sips. Despite my slight hunger at having used up so much energy today, I decide leave the dried fruit as last resort.

Eventually, I hear the anthem begin to play. I see the seal of the Capitol first which appears to be floating in the sky. When the anthem ends, they show the faces. The same simple headshots they used for our training scores, but instead of the score on the bottom, they post only the district number. I watch the nine dead tributes tick off.

The first to appear is the girl from District 3. I already knew that both tributes from 1 and 2 had survived, so it's no real surprise there. Next the girl from 4, the one who I saw lying on the ground, also not surprising. Then both from 5 and 6. I see the boy from 6 and swallow hard when I recognize he's the one who took the bow. The boy from 7. I half-expect Lynne's face to appear next, but it's the boy from 10 and finally the girl from 12. The Capitol seal flashes back and then it's darkness.

I remain staring quietly at the empty sky for a moment. The thought that still I'm alive has finally registering in my brain. I survived the first day. In fact, both our district's tributes have because Lynne's still alive too. I don't know if I should be relieved or disappointed. I did promise myself that once I got in here, I'd shoot first and ask questions later. That Lynne is just an obstacle stopping me from getting home. But then I remember his final words. His apology. How he couldn't look me in the eyes when he said it. Maybe he was apologizing for when he's in the arena. That once he's sees me he'll have to kill me because I'm a threat. That he won't enjoy it, but that he must if he's to stay alive. Well, I won't enjoy it too, but that won't stop me from doing it either.

I try to work out who is left. Five Career Tributes, including Embrose and...what was that other boy's name. The boy from 1. Treck? Then there's the boy from 3. That little girl from 7. Both from 8. Lynne and I... My mind falters as to who's left from the last remaining districts, but I'm too tired to try and remember exactly. I'll figure it out tomorrow.

I feel the wind starting to blow even stronger and it's freezing, but my jacket keeps the breeze out and the sleeping bag is preserving most of my body heat. I can only imagine what it must be like for those who don't have a sleeping bag or a blanket and will now have to find a way to keep warm during the night. I'm really hoping someone freezes to death. That way it'll be one less person to worry about.

I try to remain quiet and suppress the yawns escaping my mouth. I remind myself I've had about two hours of sleep in the past two days, so it's best not to fight it. I let my body relax, close my eyelids which feel like they're made of lead, and drift off into sleep. Right as I'm about to doze off, I can sense the eyes watching me in the darkness and my mind blackens.


	10. Silence

I wake up to the same pink sky from when the Games began. I'm relieved to see that the eagles, or whatever they were, aren't as low anymore, but I can't help but feel that something is off. The sound of chirping that I had grown accustomed to is gone. The wind has died down and not a ruffle can be heard through the trees. In fact, I can't hear anything. There's no wind, no birds, no animals at all. I'm wondering if this is my mind playing another one of it's stupid tricks on me, but my parched throat and rumbling stomach push the thought away.

I carefully curl out of my sleeping bag, and push the branches out of my way. I'm extremely grateful for having it because the night was freezing, I can tell being that my nose is ice cold. It's possible someone might of died while I was asleep and I didn't hear their cannon, but I'll find out tonight if that's the case. I have bigger things to worry about currently. My first task being water. I'm hesitant about drinking anymore from my bottle because who knows how far I'll have to travel to reach another source. Then there's the problem about what to do with the squirrel. If I don't cook it soon, it will turn bad and start to rot. I try to think of what I should do first. Avain's blue eyes pop into my mind. I know he would want me to find water. Immediately. Besides, I can always just kill another squirrel.

I pack my things, grab my bow, and start my search. It doesn't take long for me to confirm that I'm not going crazy. The entire forest has inexplicably gone silent. Like as though it's holding its breath. All I hear is an intense, steady silence. The birds I had seen when I first woke up are gone, and I don't see a single sign of life anywhere. No squirrels, no rabbits, no animals whatsoever. Perhaps the Gamemakers hadn't intended on so many tributes making it through the first day, and are now limiting the animals as a way to wither us down. The very thought makes me panic because if I don't cook that squirrel soon, I might not be able to find another for who knows how long. Before that can happen I need to find water, and quickly.

I spend the morning searching. The same stillness stays in the air and not a single tribute appears. A deep feeling of isolation emerges, but I keep going, bow armed and ready. I can't let this illusion trick me because, like yesterday, I'm probably on-screen this very moment. Not constantly, but on and off. Tributes trekking through the woods is nothing out of the ordinary, and there's still fourteen others spread out and probably doing the same thing. But they'll need to show that I'm unijured and on the move. Enough to show Lila and Jackson that I'm still alive and okay. I put the most cheerful expression I can manage and continue walking.

It's so uneasy walking through the woods with no sounds. Only that of my feet hitting the ground. Could the Gamemakers have really gotten rid of all the animals? If so, what are they trying to prove? It could takes days, weeks, in fact, before tributes start dying from starvation. If they wanted to wither us down, I'm sure they could have done something much more effective. I think back to the years when they created a flood, or a large fire, or when they announced a feast after only three days in.

I shake the thought away.

This silence must really be getting to me...

I try to get my bearings. I ran south from the Cornucopia after the Bloodbath, and, from what I know, I've been heading in the same direction ever since. If I keep heading south, I'll eventually hit the forcefield. I have to assume that if the river ran in this direction, I would have found it by now. I guess I have no choice but to change my course. But change my course to where? There's no point in heading back. I can only go east or west. I remember the mountains I saw to my left when the Games began. They lie west. It's also where I'm assuming most of the tributes are-and the Careers. Then I'll have to head east.

I change my course. I feel safer knowing that I'm heading away from the mountains, but I still remain alert. I keep trudging through the woods with the ground that only seems to become more and more covered in moss. I can even feel my boots going in deeper, like the terrain below me is getting softer and more fluffier with each step. I feels like I'm walking on a large blanket, really. After about half-an-hour, I then notice the trees begin to shrink around me and become more condensed. It hate the feeling this gives me because apart from my claustrophobia, it makes spotting enemies from afar substantially more difficult and makes the possibility of someone sneaking up on me much higher. I realise that arming my bow is pointless and pull out my knife instead. I make sure to constantly check my flanks as I walk.

I pause for a moment to survey my surroundings and listen for any signs of life. I'm met with the usual silent nothingness. All is quiet except for my heavy breathing ringing loudly in my ears. This sends uncomfortable shivers down my spine.

I glance at the tall pines around me. Is it just me or is their bark getting much darker than before? I narrow my eyes on the blackened wood around me. I curiously approach one of the trees to my side. No, it's not just black. There's something else. I lean in closer to get a better look. I immediately spot a faint dark-orange tint to it. That's weird, I've never seen trees like this before. I try to remember if I had seen them from a previous Games or something, but then a strong odor enters my nose. Not of pine, but something else. Something much stronger and bitter. I can't seem put my finger on it. Before I can wrap my head around it, I notice something in the corner of my eyes. Glistening from the rays of the sun breaking through the thick canopy above. Ten-feet wide and moving in a gentle current.

Water!

The very sight makes me want to rush to it at full speed, but I have to sensibility to check my surroundings first. Not a person in sight.

I feel myself tightening the grip on the string of my bow. I cautiously approach the river. It's not very big, indicating that it must close-off somewhere nearby. Maybe even lead into another lake, or a pond. I scan the forest around me, but all that I hear is the never-ending silence and desolation I've been with all day. I go in to get a closer look, the trees around me shrink closer and closer together as I approach the river, their strong stretch wafting around in my nostrils. I watch the clear, blue water stream by. I stare at it in suspicion. It might be poisonous, but that wouldn't make much sense. If it were poisonous, then the lake back at the Cornucopia and this entire river would be too. I'm certain that I can't be the first tribute to have found it. More tributes would be dead by now. The lack of cannons assures me it probably isn't.

I crouch down near the edge of the bank and pull out my water bottle from my bag. Since I don't have any iodine to filter it out, I wrap the bandages over the cap of the bottle and use it as a makeshift filter. I don't see any fish swim by, confirming that even the water has been devoid of life. After my bottle is filled up, I remove my bag and wash the dried blood off by spraying cold water on it, making sure the blood doesn't drip down into river.

I take large sips from my bottle-now that I know I can easily get more-and refresh my parched throat. The water sends chills rippling down my mouth and stimulates my entire body. I feel completely rejuvenated by the time I've filled it up a again.

There's really no point in leaving. I could probably set up camp right here. I decide to stoop down next to the stump of a tree a few feet away. The strange smell enters my nose again, but I ignore it. Right as I'm about to sit down, the orange tint comes into view. I stare at it in confusion. My mind ponders for a brief moment, and with my left hand, I curiously place my palm on the bark. A memory sparks into my head and I know what it is less than a second too late, because that's when I shriek.

There's an immediate burning sensation on my palm where it touched the tree and I instantly pull my hand away from the orange-black bark. It doesn't matter though because the damage is done. The pain is so strong it's making my eyes water as the sensation of something burrowing deep into my hand and eating away at my skin begins to take effect. It takes all my will to not scream out anymore because I'm on the ground now and I'm feeling light-headed. When I examine the wound, I see my hand covered in blood, and what isn't bleeding has turned yellow.

Acid.

The word reaches my lips right away.

That explains the orange color I saw, and the smell. All these trees around me must be laced with acid. Their bark burning away at flesh upon contact.

I'm in too much shock to stand up and the pain is only getting worse.

The sound of footsteps heading in my direction registers in my head and my heart begins to pound harder than it ever has before. The thought of another tribute coming to finish me off fuels my body and gives me the strength to spring to my feet and grab my knife. There's only really two thoughts pounding through my head. That I don't want to die, and that I can't die!

The sound becomes louder and louder, but I'm fortunate not to have been spotted yet thanks to the dense cluster of trees all around me. I quickly scoop up my bow, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain its sending through my skin, and sprint as fast as I can away from the pursuer. My mind is racing at a thousand thoughts per second and my body takes complete control of me, ordering me to continue running. I know I'm following the river downstream, and I even in my surging adrenaline, I keep a good distance from the acid trees.

I'm too afraid to look back, but I'm not sure if I've been spotted yet. They must've been nearby when they heard my scream.

I prick my ears to listen for the sound of rushing footsteps from my attacker. They're far away. I'd say back where I was camping at. The sense of panic fills my lungs that I might have left something important back there, but then I remember that I had grabbed my bow and bag before fleeing. I notice the blood pouring out of my hand and the immense pain from gripping the hard metal of the bow and I let it drop to the ground. I pause in front of a large pond where the river leads into. Beyond me, all I can see is trees that go on endlessly. My eyes widen as I the sound of footsteps enters my ears again, indicating that they've began to chase me again. I'm so petrified that I don't know where to go. I hear twigs snapping behind me and the tribute coming closer, but I'm frozen in place.

RUN! I order myself with such force it awakens my limbs. But only enough to shuffle a bit forwards.

The footsteps are coming closer now. I now they'll be here any second, but I'm still not moving. I'm not moving because all I can feel is doubt. Can I really outrun them? Won't it just stall my death? The crowd is expecting a fight, and if that's the case, then the Gamemakers will never let me get away. I glance back. Should I fight? I look down at my knife. I'm shaking my hand and bleeding plan I know I won't stand a chance. Then I remember the pond to my side. My eyes widen. I don't have time to question my actions. I toss my bow in the water and dive in after it.

The feeling of ice-cold water hitting my face is all I can feel. The rest of my body is limp. My heart feels like its about to explode and I'm holding my breath for dear life. The pain in my hand is so strong I'm biting the sleeve of my jacket so that I don't scream. I have my eyes pinned to the surface, where I can only make out the distorted shape of the green forest canopy above. My knife clenched tightly in my trembling right hand.

It feels like an eternity until the outline of a person appears overlooking the pond. I can make out their eyes darting around in search of me. There's an awful choking sensation that I have to suppress as I wait. I can't tell if they've spotted me, but I remain prepared to leaped out at any moment. Suddenly, I see their head turn in the direction I was thinking of running in and disappear.

I aim my ears towards the surface, hoping to hear if they've truly disappeared, but the water makes it so I'm practically deaf. My only option, I decide, is to wait a little longer. The sensation that I'm choking multiplies until my chest starts to jerk wildly like I'm being punched. I close my eyes and clench my jaw, needing all my strength not to reach for air. But the pain becomes too strong and I spring out of the water.

The light is initially blinding. I gasp deeply for air. It doesn't help, because no matter how hard I gasp, it never seems to be enough. I keep breathing and for I moment I think I might actually die, then I feel myself slowly start to catch my breath. Somehow, I end up on my knees away from the pond. I'm sitting there for what feels like another eternity. Letting myself breath in and out. Then, I remember the tribute who was chasing me. Panic surges through my body again and I turn to see if they're gone. I can hear the sound of their boots scrambling to find me, but off in the distance. It will only be a matter of time before they probably loop back here. I remember my bow, still sunk at the bottom of the pond and I dive back in. I immediately spot it shining from the sunlight and scoop it up. I feel the water stab at my injured hand and send a wave of pain through my arm. I quickly jump back out and sprint full-speed in the opposite direction of the tribute.

Whatever bearings I thought I had, are now gone. I've been running frantically through the woods for so long that I can see the sun is starting to set above. I'd hardly taken any breaks. The thought of that tribute almost killing me kept me moving. I just needed to get as far away from that awful place, and that awful tribute, and those awful trees. I remind myself to never head back there. No matter what. Even though I've lost my only source of freshwater.

The thought of that pretty little pond pops into my head. I actually think jumping it the water helped a little bit because it seemed to have drawn out some of the acid, but my hand is still stinging pretty badly. Even though the blood has ceased a little, I wrap the roll of bandages around my palm for good measure. What isn't swollen has begun to turn yellow and is making me sick. I know that using my bow will be impossible. The amount of effort needed to be exerted on the string will surely make me blackout. All I have now to protect me is a small knife blade. On top of that, my near-death encounter won't have been well-received by the audience. The Gamemakers won't be pleased that I've ruined their chance for some real action and the crowd will be calling for blood. Especially since I haven't heard a single cannon fire today. People will be restless.

It's late in the afternoon by the time I finally agree to rest. My muscles are sore and my hand is still in severe shape. I'm still in a state of shock.

I look back up and see the dark blue sky slowly fading into oblivion. The sun is starting to set, but I still have time to spare a fire. The dusk sky will hide the smoke well enough so that the other tributes won't see it, but I need to hurry. I quickly drop my things and get to work. I don't have any matches, so I have no choice but to work with the few materials around me. I cut out thin layers of bark with my knife using my good hand and prepare to spin the notch of a small branch on the bark the way I remember doing back in the training center. I'm so caught up in the thought of eating, that I completely forget the state my hand is in. I try to spin the notch with both hands and the pain almost makes me scream. I forgot, there's no way I can build a fire from scratch with only one hand. I curse under my breath and toss the tools away.

I look hopelessly up to the sky. Maybe a sponsor can send me some food. Is a sponsor sending me food too much to ask? What more do I have to prove. It's only been a day since the Games started and sponsorships are still fairly cheap. Do I even have sponsors? I must have. Especially after my display at the Bloodbath. What is Avain waiting for? He could easily press a button and have a silver parachute sent to me in seconds. Maybe he knows that sending me food isn't worth it. Maybe I'm deluding myself. Maybe people knew that I had no idea what I was doing when I jumped into those bushes and that getting the bow was just a stroke of luck.

I grit my teeth. I'll have to toughen it out, even though my stomach hasn't stopped grumbling all day. After all my gorging I did during my stay at the Capitol, it's hard to ignore. I remind myself how silly I'm acting. Back in the orphanage it wouldn't be uncommon to miss meals. Sometimes we wouldn't eat for days, like during the winter when there's constant food shortages. People can last weeks without food. I know this because of the people who lie penniless on the streets of District 9. Yet here I am, complaining after hardly two days. I can only imagine what the people in my district would say if I asked Avain to send me some food right now. They'd never want me to come back home.

The sound of silence reminds me where I am. I look blankly around. All I'm met with is the same sight of black trees and mossy-green grass.

I sigh.

I decide to get back to my feet. Might as well find a place to rest for the night. Building a fire will have to wait until my hand heals, and who knows how long that will take? I settle down near some tall ferns poking through the ground. The ground is so soft and I wonder if a sleeping bag would be necessary, but then a cold steam of wind reminds me that I'm being foolish. Laying out my sleeping bag takes twice as long as yesterday now that I'm partially handicapped and while I finally do zip up my jacket it's the result of careful precision. I keep my knife gripped in my good hand and buckle down to sleep. I remember that I managed to refill my bottle before fleeing and pull it out, taking only small sips.

By now the sun has begun to set. The forest is still inexplicably devoid of noise, but the pain in my hand keeps my thoughts away.

The anthem plays and no faces appear.

I can only imagine what tomorrow has in store. It's only a matter of time before the Gamemakers work out a way to bring us together. I try not to think about it.

* * *

Morning brings a flood of relief. I wake up to the wonderful sound of birds chirping and singing in the branches high above my head. My first impulse is to question whether yesterday was all a part of my imagination. I should really go see a doctor or something; get my brain assessed. Now that I think about it, yesterday seems more like some sort of unpleasant dream. How many days has it been? Two? Three? Suddenly, I notice the throbbing pain in my left hand and confirm that it wasn't a dream. I almost died yesterday. And since there still haven't been any deaths, I'll probably be dead by the end of the day.

I lick my dry, frozen lips, and quench my thirst. I look around the woods. I don't spot any of those awful orange trees I had seen earlier, but I double-check by sniffing the bark for any of that pungent, sour smell. All I can smell is pine, which brings me relief. From watching the Games all my life, I know that only certain parts are laced with certain traps. I'm guessing that back towards the river, all the trees share the same acidic bark. That means I've travelled far enough to escape it.

A dark thought crosses my mind. Who knows what traps reside in the other parts?

I remind myself it's best not to consider too many scenarios.

I try to plan out where I will head next. This arena seems fairly vast; considering there still haven't been any deaths and there's more than half of us left. Albeit, yes, I did run into another tribute yesterday, but that mostly due to the silence that makes spotting others much easier. Maybe it feels bigger since I'm totally disoriented from not knowing which direction I was running yesterday. All I do know is that after I ran away from the Cornucopia, the ground was sloping downwards, into an unending valley. Now, in front of me, and as far as I can see, the ground is sloping upwards and the trees seem to be getting more spread out. There's only two explanations; one, I'm either heading back to the Cornucopia, or two, I'm heading towards the mountains-the exact place I've been trying to avoid. Either way, I've lost my one advantage of using a bow. That power and optimism I felt the first day has withered and now I'll have to be on alert. If I find anyone out here, I'll have no choice but to run or hide, just like I did yesterday.

Great, I mutter.

Since I'm too apprehensive continuing forwards, I decide to spend most of my morning throwing my knife into the trunk of a nearby tree and organizing and reorganizing the contents of my pack. Hopefully there's something interesting going on somewhere else because I'm being as eventful as a dead mouse.

It's midday by the time I decide to set up some snares. Since my hand won't let me hunt, this is all I've got. I try my hardest to remember what the instructor had taught me back in the training center. I'm doubtful it'll catch anything since my effort back at training were mediocre at best, but I need people to see I'm still apart of this Game. That just because I'm injured, doesn't mean I'm going to give up. Pity doesn't bring you help. Refusal to give in to your injuries does. I make sure not to give the cameras plenty of time to pinpoint my carefully set snare. For the sake of the viewers, I use two of my fingers and pretend like they're a small animal cluelessly walking into my trap. Then I bring my hand to my neck and move it slowly across my throat, motioning that when it walks in, it'll be killed. I can almost hear the laughter coming from the crowd. I'm hoping that the more they laugh, the more they more generous they'll be. And the generous they are the more they'll hopefully spend on me.

Before I can get up, I spot the white fur of a rabbit eyeing me a few yards away near the trunk of a tree.

I stop what I'm doing and stare back at it. I hear my stomach grumble. I watch it sniff the air for any unwanted predators. I don't move, desperately hoping it doesn't notice me and get startled away. I calmly reach for the knife in my belt.

"It's okay, little guy. I'm not gonna hurt you," I whisper, not even letting myself blink. I unsheath the blade and slowly rise up. "Just don't...move."

Right as I'm about to take a step, it glances to me in fear and bounds away. That's when I start to chase it. I know it's pointless to chase a scared rabbit, that there's no way I'll ever be able to catch it, but something, some deep primitive instinct inside me urges me to follow through. To make the kill. I barely catch its white fluffy fur disappear past the various trees, but it's enough to send me in the right direction. I keep the blade armed and ready. I charge at it, but it continues its pace, hoping headlessly through the ground. I feel myself getting closer to it and I'm even about to leap and strike at it, but then I trip on a large tree root and hit the ground with a thud. I watch the little rabbit scurry away and I roll my eyes in fury.

Something strange then enters my nose. I sniff the air again, expecting the acidic taste of the bark, but it turns out to be something rather pleasant. Flowers. I turn my head to my side and spot the beautiful arrangement of pink and yellow flowers. Then I spot the clear, blue water with lilies floating on top and my eyes widen.

A pond. That dumb rabbit lead me to a pond.

"Thanks a lot, little guy," I whisper into the empty trees where the rabbit disappeared.

I immediately rummage through my bag and pull out my bottle. I can't filter it out, since the bandages are wrapped around my swollen hand, so I decide to take the risk and plunge my mouth into the water, taking large, heavy gulps. Once my stomach starts to hurt, I fill up my bottle.

I look down at my hand and carefully unwrap the gauze. I look queezingly at my scarred hand. Now that the blood has dried, I can see the skin that's been peeled off. Someone's words-perhaps Abatha's or an instructor's back in the Capitol-flashes into my head. "Water is the first treatment for a burn." A burn, like from a fire? Probably. Isn't this an acid burn? I'm guessing it's pretty much the same thing. I think back to how much better my hand felt after I got out of the pond yesterday. Yes, water will be first step to treating it. That way, it will draw out any more remnants of acid still in my skin and prevent any further damage.

I bite the inside of my mouth hard as I plunge my hand into the piercing cold water. My mouth instantly fills with the metallic taste of blood. The pain is so intense I almost pass out several times and I have to take it, but when I do, the pain is even stronger and I'm forced to put it back in. After several back-and-fourths, it becomes more tolerable and I let it stay it for longer. I then grab the blood-stained gauze and soak it in the pond before gingerly wrapping it around my hand.

I lie on my back for while, letting the discomfort soothe. A faint buzzing sound enters my ears. I look over to a patch of those yellow and pink flowers growing near the bank of the pond. I spot a furry bee whisking across the water. I stare at it in wonder, watching it whisk across the water and disappear into thin air. That can't be right. Where did it go? I look around, but don't spot it anywhere. But the buzzing sound still rings in my ears. From what I can tell its coming closer.

I lift myself from the ground and dart my head left and right, as if I'm expecting someone or something to sneak up on me. When I look around, there's no one. I start to hear footsteps, the same ones I heard when I was being chased. My heart starts beating like there's no tomorrow and panic surges through my body. I feel my muscles begin to twitch uncontrollably and I can't breath. I can't breath! I feel like I'm submerged underwater again. My body shivering, my surroundings darkened and disoriented. Then I feel the choking punches hitting my chest and I want to scream, but I can't. I feel the lights around me getting brighter and brighter until it's blinding me entirely. All I can hear is Caesar's enthusiastic voice screaming in my head, asking me inaudible questions and grabbing my hand so tightly it's like he's trying to rip it off.

"Don't you look lovely," he screams.

"Does she not folks?" he screams even louder. A loud cheering fills my ears.

"Tell me Marisole," his red eyes beam into my own.

"Did he really see you?"

"What did he say?" I begin to hear loud laughter in the distance. It keeps growing louder and louder.

"Does he really love you?"

Before I can answer, I blackout.


	11. Voices

A voice wakes me up from my daze. I spring up, arming my knife in my hand and begin to wave if threateningly in the air. It's dark out. I can see the moonlight illuminating the pond.

"Marisole, it's me." I can't tell where the voice is coming from, but I know it sounds familiar. Like I can recognize it.

"Who's there?" I cry, madly searching for the speaker.

"C'mon, Marisole. Don't you recognize me?" says the voice in a gentle tone.

'Who-who are you? Show yourself!" I stammer.

I jump at the feeling of a hand grabbing my shoulder. I throw the knife in it's direction, but I hear it lodge itself in the grass a few feet away.

"What'd you do that for?" asks the voice. "What are you trying to do, kill me?"

I turn my head to the side in bewilderment. "Jackson, is that you?"

Through the darkened shadows of the tree, I see his tall figure walk up to me until he's in the glistening rays of the moonlight. My eyes widen in disbelief and I jump up to hug him.

"Oh, Jackson! Is it really you?" I exclaim loudly. I bury my face deep in his chest and feel the warmth of his body pass through me. I can feel his arms wrap protectively around my waist and I try my hardest not to cry. "I can't believe it! I've missed you so much," I'm wheezing for air now. "I don't want to be here. I want to go home! I want to go home and be back with you and Lila!" the tears are already streaming down my face.

He lets go of me and I gasp for breath. I look up to his brown eyes in worry. "Where's Lila? Is she okay?"

He nods his head. "She's fine. She can't wait to see you."

"Why? Where is she? Is she here?" I begin to call out her name at the top of my lungs. Suddenly, Jackson's clasps his hand to my mouth.

"Shhh," he whispers. "You don't want the others to hear you."

My heart stops. "Others?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"Have you forgotten where you are?" He looks to me with a serious expression across his face. "Don't you know what'll happen if you die?"

I look concerningly to the ground, trying to make sense of his words. "W-what will happen?" I ask, sensing his fear.

"She'll starve. You'll let Lila starve."

I shake my head and push him away. I feel like I'm choking again. "No!" I blurt out in disbelief. "No! I-I can't let her starve. I _won't_!"

He grabs my hand and yanks me to him. His hand presses hard on my mouth and I see him anxiously glance around. We stand there in silence for a long moment, waiting for something to burst out of the trees. I can hardly hear anything though. All I can hear is my thumping heart.

His grip finally loosens and he sighs in relief. His expression changes to a much angrier one. "Are you out of your mind! Have you forgotten you're in the _Games_? Lila doesn't stand a chance if you keep acting so stupidly!" he hisses in a hushed tone.

I know he's making sense. I know I'm still in the Games, but everything feels so surreal. I can't seem to make sense of anything. All I can do is be glad that Jackson is finally here.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"It's okay," His eyes relax and he lets out his usual smile. "I guess I've just missed you. I haven't seen you since the Reaping, you know."

I think back to that day so long ago. Its nothing more than a distant memory now, but the more I try to remember the clearer it seems to be. "You told me you loved me?" I ask, unsure of the truth anymore.

He grabs my swollen hand into his own. "I thought you forgot," he says. "I've always loved you." He wipes the tears off my face.

"I love you too," I blurt out, making sure I'm not too loud.

He smiles again, revealing his sparkling white teeth. "Don't worry, I know."

I'm instantly relieved at his answer. "You do? Because I didn't have time to tell you back in the Justice Building and I thought you weren't sure because I didn't tell you I lo-"

He places his finger on my lips. "It's okay, Marisole. It wasn't your fault."

"But it _was_ my fault! I couldn't speak. I should have said it, I knew I should have said it!" I retort.

I feel his lips effectively silence me as he presses them to my own. The same warm and secure feeling I had felt back when he had first done it resurfaces and I let myself close my eyes and savor this moment.

"Better?" he asks after after a long while.

I nod my head.

"Do you have the rose I gave you?" he asks.

I stare at him blankly.

"The _rose_. The rose that I gave you back on the farm. Do you have it?" he asks louder.

"The rose?" I echo.

He leans his head so close to mine that our noses are almost touching. "Yes, the _rose_. The rose I gave you. Don't you remember?" I can see him start to get worked up.

I watch him glance around the ground and begin to moving around the pond, frantically searching for it.

"Where is it, Marisole? What did you do with it!" he cries.

I desperately check my pockets and empty my bag, but its all empty. "I-I dunno. I dunno where I put it," I stammer.

I can see him getting really angry with me. He grabs my bag from the ground and checks it himself before cursing and throwing it away in the water. "I gave you one thing! One thing! And you couldn't even take care of that!"

Never in my life had I seen him so furious at me before. "I-I'm sorry. Jackson. I-I don't know where I put it!" I say, trying to calm him down.

"What do you mean you don't know where you put it? I gave that to you! I _stole_ that for you! I put my life at risk for you! And this is how you repay me!" his shouts start to echo into the abyss.

I feel more guilty than I ever have in my life. I try my hardest to remember what I had done with it, but I can't remember. I can't remember for the life of me.

"You better have a r-e-a-l-l-y good explanation, Marisole," he says, turning to me with his fists clenched.

I start to back away in fear. "Jackson, I'm sorry. Okay. I-" all of a sudden, its image appears in my head-resting on the wooden table where I had left it. "On the table!" I yell. "I left it back on the table! Back in the Justice Building!"

His eyes examine me carefully. He walks closer to me. "In the Justice Building?" he asks calmly.

I take a step back. "Uh huh," I reply, nodding my head.

"You mean back in District Nine?"

I nod my head again, too terrified to move. He smiles at me and I stand staring at him in confusion. "Oh, okay." He exhales. "I'm glad you remembered."

I'm speechless and my heart seems to have stopped.

"Here, c'mon. Sit down with me," he ushers for me to join him on the bank on the glowing pond.

I watch him with a mistified stare. "Jackson, are you alright?" I ask, too stunned to speak clearly.

"Never better. What's wrong with you? Don't you want to sit next to me?" he asks genuinely puzzled by my behavior.

I slowly approach him. Using the same caution I would whenever approaching a hungry wolf.

"Marisole, what's the matter with you? You look like you've seen a dead body," he says with concern.  
"I have seen a dead body. Eight, actually," I say, reflecting on the dismembered corpses I'd seen on the first day.

Jackson gazes back at the pond. "I know. I saw that. You were really brave, you know that."

"You saw that?" I ask.

"You've been making me proud ever since you stepped foot into this arena," he mentions.

My mind starts to light up again. I shake my head, remembering where I am. In an arena. In the Games. I'm nothing but a tribute. Waiting to die. Then why is Jackson here? He's not a tribute? He wasn't reaped. Or was he? Is he in this awful game with me? Do I have to kill him? I look over to where I threw my knife. It's still planted in the ground. I peer over to Jackson, hoping he didn't catch my intention.

"Why are you here?" I ask, hoping it will distract him enough for me to lunge for the knife.

He chuckles. "Why _am_ I here?" he asks, still gazing into the water.

I start to move backwards in the direction of the blade. "You're not making any sense," I say casually.

I'm so close to the knife now I can hear it calling my name.

"Oh, so now it's sense that you want to talk about. At least I'm not the one who's losing their mind."

I stop dead in my tracks, the knife directly below my feet. "What are you trying to say?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"Do you really think you can hurt me with that knife?" he asks, turning towards me.

I quickly scoop it up, but Jackson charges at me and tackles me to the ground. I watch the knife fly out of my hand and land next to the trunk of a tree. We both crawl for it, but he reaches it first. He grabs it and stands up.

I close my eyes. Readying myself for the blow that will end my life, but it never comes. Instead, I hear the blade whizz through the night air and plunge into the water.

"Really, Marisole. You oughta stick to bows," he scoffs, taking his previous seat near the

bank. I remain on the ground. More baffled than I've ever been in my entire life.

"Why didn't you kill me?" I ask accusingly. I stand back up

"Kill you?" He laughs. "Why would I want to kill you? I just wanted to congratulate you for making it this far."

I carefully approach him. "You mean for making it this far into the Games?

When I'm an inch behind hi,, he turns to me. "Geez, don't scare me like that!" he exclaims. "You practically snuck up on me. What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack!"

I don't reply. I take a seat next to him on the bank and stare at the water. "Two days is hardly anything," I finally say.

"It's better than most," he says, nudging my shoulder. "You enjoying the arena so far?" he asks casually. "It's pretty fun, right?"

I look to him like he's crazy. "No," I say. "Not really…"

"You're always in a bad mood. Can't you ever try to cheer up. Things aren't so bad, you know," he points out.

"Have you forgotten I'm in the Games?" I say bitterly.

"I guess you got me there," he says, smiling.

I look to him immediately. Something about what he said throws me off and gets me trying my hardest to make sense of what's going on. I glance back to the pond. I spot the clump of flowers near the edge. Then a buzzing sound enters my ears. A buzzing sound? Why does that sound familiar? Then, in the corner of my eyes, I spot the little thing flying across the water and towards me. A bee. Unlike any bumblebee I've ever seen, this one has pink stripes on its coat instead of black ones that allow it to easily camouflage with the flowers. And is that fur? Fluffy fur on is body? Regular bees don't have that. I'm stuck wondering whether its the annoying kind of bee that constantly flies around your head and never leaves you alone when I notice the stinger on its back. An inch long and abnormally sharp.

 _A mutt!_ The words echo in my head. Genetically modified, and considering where I am, purposely placed to either kill me, or…

I look to Jackson who's began watching me. "This isn't real, is it?" I ask.

He flicks my nose with his finger. "Took you long enough."

I stare back at the bee, slowly approaching me. I get up and shake my head until I feel dizzy. I hear its buzzing coming closer and I quickly back away, grabbing my bag beside me and hoisting my bow around my shoulder. I feel the knife still stowed in my belt and run backwards as fast as I can.

When I'm a few yards away, I hear the bee angrily buzz and turn back towards the pond and disappear into the flowers. Only then do I exhale.

It takes me a moment to register what was just happened. I peer over to the pond, but I can't see Jackson anywhere. But that's impossible! He was right there! He was right in front of me! I felt his heart beating when he hugged me. He kissed me! I told him I loved him. I'm still shaking my head and yanking my hair out. None of this makes any sense.

The cry of an owl breaks my thoughts. I look and see the moon. The moon! Last I remember it was still midday. How is it dark already? I unsheath my knife and examine it in front of my face. That's weird? I thought Jackson threw this away.

My mind is so confused it's giving me a headache. I can feel my brain, trying desperately to piece this all together.

A sharp stinging sensation on my neck makes me twitch. Suddenly, I remember the bee. The mutt I had seen approaching me. It must've stung me. That little-

My eyes widen.

Was I hallucinating? Or was I dreaming? I don't know. It felt too real to be a dream. Is that what that stinger holds, a powerful hallucinogen? Then how did I snap out of it? Maybe because I was stung only once. Maybe if another bee had come along and stung me too I'd still be there. I instantly search my body for any of signs of more stings, but all I can feel in the lump on my neck and the throbbing in my swollen hand.

I place my hand to my neck and feel the stinger planted deep in my skin. I immediately yank it out and throw it away in disgust. I see a green liquid oozing from lump on my neck. I desperately wipe it off and make sure not to leave any traces of it on my hands.

That must be what happened. I was stung and started having hallucinations. The very thought of those bees lurking in those flowers, waiting for an unsuspecting tribute to wander by and grab a drink…

I think back to the acid trees I had encountered yesterday, the ones that surrounded the river. Maybe all sources of freshwater in this arena are laced with some kind of nightmarish trap or mutt. I should have known an abundance of water is never a good sign.

Something still doesn't seem right, though. If all sources of water in the arena are laced, wouldn't there be more deaths? I mean, sure, we've all made it through the first day, but not everyone is so cunning. Look at me, my cannon almost sounded just now.

The thought of the other tributes makes me worry. How long was I out? Trapped in that nightmare? For all I know, I could have missed any number of deaths. I glance up at the sky. The moon is starting to go down and it will morning soon. That means I've missed the anthem.

The thought of morning fast approaching makes me weary. I feel exhausted, even though I've been passed out for the past few hours. I should probably salvage whatever sleep I can, but…

I let myself pause to relax. Everytime I try to make a plan in my head, it drains all of my energy. I honestly don't have the willpower to do anything right now. Part of it is my two recent near-death experiences-which I'm sure are nothing but trouble for my heart-and the other is the fact that I had seen Jackson just now. He felt so real. Like he was really in front of me. I remember his unusually bright glowing teeth. How he simply appeared out of thin air behind me. Do I even know what's real? Was he real? How can I be so sure? What if this is all just another hallucination?

I stoop down onto the ground in plain view. Not caring if anyone spots me. Let them try, I'll kill them if they do. I wouldn't even bat an eye. All I care about is figuring out what happened back at the pond. I try to reply my last conversation with Jackson, but my mind is drawn to a blank. I can't remember anything. In fact, I can hardly remember how I got there in the first place.

A loud howl in the distance startles me. I look over to where it came from. It seemed far away. Up this never-ending hill. I decide to ignore it. I'm sure it's someone else's problem.

I puzzlingly stare into the dark, shadowy woods in front of me. What _was_ I trying to do? Where was I trying to go? No matter how hard I try, I can't remember. I guess that stinger must have wiped part of my memory too. Maybe it's just a side-effect of the hallucinogen. The thought that it might be wearing off offers me some relief, however. Relief that what's going on right now is real. That I'm living in reality again. Not that my reality is very comforting at all, really. What with the fourteen other tributes trying to kill me.

I rest my head on the soft moss ground. I just need to sleep. I feel my head aching. I place my bag below my head and use it as a pillow.

The sight of blond curls brushing against the ground diverts my attention. Then I see Lila's sleeping figure a few feet beside me. Curled up comfortably and snoring loudly. She's still wearing the dress from the Reaping. I want to cry out her name, but the sight of her calms me down, so I silently crawl over to her. I try to shake her awake.

"Lila. Lila wake up, it's me," I plead.

She mumbles something incomprehensible and turns away.

"Lila, wake up. Lila, can you hear me?"

She waves her hand in the air, motioning for me to leave her alone. She can be so stubborn sometimes, I swear.

I can't make out her face in the darkness, but I know its her.

"Tomorrow we'll go to the farm, okay?" I say, eagerly waiting for the thought of it in the morning.

She nods her head, half awake.

"Tomorrow we'll go to the farm and forgot about this. Forget about all of this," I'm speaking more to myself really, but I know she can hear me.

I smile and gently kiss her on the head. Then the feeling of drowsiness overpowers my sensibility and I lie down next to her. I cover my arms over her sleeping body, hoping she isn't too cold. I'd hate that. After she's fast asleep again, I let my eyes drift off into sleep too.


	12. Blood lake

The sound of a cannon firing the distance wakes me up. I'm momentarily dazed as I lift my head up from the cold, dew-filled mossy ground brushing up against my cheek, numbing it completely. I casually glance over to my side, expecting her to have my hand gently brush up her curls, but it doesn't. All I feel is the soaking moss all around me.

"Lila!" I call out.

I'm up in an instant, crawling to where she had been sleeping last night and on my knees. My head, twitching wildly in every direction.

"Lila!" I yell again. I don't care if anyone hears me. All I care about is finding her. "Lila, please! Where are you?"

I get up to my feet and dart around the trees.

"No. No," I mumble desperately.

"Lila!" I can't control the level of my voice, and it sends birds fluttering away in fear. I let out a loud croaking sound and I fall onto the ground. Defeated. "Come back, Lila," I whimper, knowing that it won't ever reach her ears.

I don't bother to hide the tears building up around my eyes. I lie on the ground in a fetal position, with my knees to my chest and sobbing. Choking, really. The image of her blond hair stuck in my mind. I don't care that I'm being filmed right now. I don't what anyone in all of Panem thinks. I don't care where I am. About any of them. About any of it. I feel like I'm in a coma. I'm completely oblivious to anything going on around me anymore and I can't make myself stop crying. There's a hopelessness that washes over me that I've truly never felt before. One that's so strong and resonant that I agree to let myself lie here forever. I decide that I want to lie right in this spot until I die. I'm actually hoping someone heard my screams because I want them to just kill me. Come here and finish me off. Whatever is left of me. It would be so much easier. Then I could just be done with all this.

I close my eyes and wait for the blow to end my life.

Sadly, that moment never comes. A long while passes, but I don't hear anyone emerge. I've stopped crying, however, and I slowly let myself roll onto my back, facing the trees above. I stare into the beautiful azure sky with picturesque little clouds drifting by and notice the sun almost at its peak.

I yawn.

Carelessly, I wipe the tears off my face with my sleeve and blow my nose into the air. I can't close my eyes anymore because everytime I do, all I see is her. Her and Jackson. Both their faces. Both so happy from a memory when we were all together on a nice day. I know those kinds of day are very few, but it's what makes them so special. A day back in the summer. Back when we'd have a day off from work guarding the farms. We'd sit by the fence near the orphanage, staring into the glowing wheat. Jackson and I would have stolen some food that morning and we'd all be sharing it. I'd give the rest of my piece to Lila and push her hair out of her face with my fingers. She'd smile back at me and teasingly let out her tongue. Then Jackson would try to make her laugh-do a silly face or something-and then she would, and I would too because I'd be so happy. Happy that we're all together and safe. Safe from any danger. Safe from starvation, safe from the cold, safe from the animals on the outskirts, safe from the Capitol, safe from the Games. Safe from everything.

I start to cry again. I don't bother to hide my face. I want them to see me like this. See me with my mind in shambles. Make them feel responsible. Responsible for doing this all to us. For putting us in here. For driving us to the point of insanity. I want them to know it's their fault. It's their fault I'll never see them again. Even though I'm certain they're cutting away from me now and switching the cameras to someone else. Someone less dead inside. If that's even possible.

I attempt to summon Lila's face in my head. The way she looked last night. It was too dark, unfortunately, and I couldn't see her face clearly from the shadows. I take a deep breath and try to recall her voice when I talked to her. It's not her voice I retrieve, but the sound of the cannon that had woken me up, still echoing faintly in my ears. Someone died. That's good news. I stare back up at the sky, knowing my tears have dried my now, but ignoring the state my eyes must be in. If only Blossom could cover them up again like she did on the train. The thought of her and her sparkling blue wig, and of Avain; watching me and shaking his head, brings me back to reality a little. I dart my head to both sides, and reflexively grip the cold metal blade of my knife in my swollen hand. The pain-although more subdued-sends a surge of energy through my body and I slowly arch myself to feet.

I need to remind myself that what I saw last night wasn't real. Whatever the toll it's taken on me. I shake my head. I need to get back to reality.

Someone died. That makes what, fourteen of us left? I look down to the trees and see their long shadows looming towards me. It must be past noon.

I yawn again.

I rub my necking that's aching in pain and inspect the lump from the bee sting. It's not as massive anymore. That's a relief. I'm sure that taking the stinger out was a good idea. Out of pure curiosity, I examine my hand and notice the yellow undertone slowly fading, leaving only soft pink skin showing through the bandages. I must be getting better too.

Before I can move to retrieve my bow laying on the ground a little ways away-clearly thrown away carelessly last night by my distorted self-I hear my stomach start to grumble and feel my head start to ring. I try to keep it in, but it's too late and I puke. I'm vomiting green slush out of my mouth uncontrollably until I'm gagging. This happens two more times until I've ridden my stomach completely of what I assume to be the stinger's contents. I feel much better by the third time and after no more wants to come out, I pick up my bow and put in around my shoulder.

As repulsive as it was, I'm glad I did because now I feel so different than how I was when I woke up. I think back to the state I was in, curled up on the ground with no weapon, calling out Lila's name and crying. I scan the trees around me, expecting someone to jump at me, but all I can hear are the forest's usual tranquil sounds. There must not have been anyone around me because if someone had heard me, I'd be dead by now.

As I'm about to head off, I notice a shining glimmer in the corner of my eyes. I see the silver parachute perched on top of a bush nearby. It takes me a second before I realize what it is. A sponsor gift. My first one. Avain must have sent it while I was asleep, or maybe I was so disturbed I hadn't heard it arrive.

I reach for the container with my good hand, anticipating some sort of medicine for my burnt palm, but when I grab ahold of it, the miniature size befuddles me. It's far too small to be burn medicine. I unscrew the lid and inside I find an ordinary pack of matches. Apparently there's a note attached.

 _Better get hunting, Marisole._

 _\- Avain_

Despite my grieving mood, it makes me smile. It's comforting to know that Avain's trying his best to cheer me up. That he's still watching me. That Lila and Jackson are too. It's also nice to know that someone back in the Capitol-despite how despicable they probably are-is rooting for me too. All of this gives me a newfound motivation to still be a player in this Game. That they want me to be a _real_ contender in this Game. So that I can come home. Or at least try.

I stuff the matches into a small pocket on the side of my bag. Although it's a little underwhelming, I know it will be useful, at least until my hand heals. With these I can easily get a fire going in minutes, but that doesn't mean I'm in any physical state to hunt.

I whisper an inaudible "thank you" into the sky. Even though it's only been a couple of days since the Games began and sponsorships are still fairly cheap, I want them to know I'm grateful. That way they'll send me more when the prices increase the longer this goes on.

I place the container and parachute in my bag. I don't really think I'll have much use for it, but I'd rather not leave and have someone else find it and know I was here. I think back to the rabbit I had killed a few days ago and pull out the meat still wrapped in the plastic bag. I sniff it and then carefully inspect it. It's not as fresh, but it hasn't started to rot yet. I'll have to cook it as soon as possible.

The thought of keeping my mind busy somewhat helps and I head off where the ground is sloping upwards, my knife armed, and eyes peeled. My boots make the hiking much easier, allowing myself to gain some good traction. It's mid-afternoon when I start feeling tired and I decide to cook my rabbit. I gather the wood I need and get one start within a matter of minutes. The sight of the smoke makes me weary, but I know that the clouds above will hid the trail well. After I cook the meat, I immediately put it out, removing any traces of my whereabouts, just in case someone else, like the Careers, see the smoke. I eat the rabbit while I continue walking.

The meat is delicious and warm and I leave no leftovers. The nourishment it provides offers me an immense amount of energy. Energy that I've been lacking these past few days. Better than that awful week I spent in the Capitol, getting groomed and mentored to act in a certain way, dealing with so many conflicting emotions, trying to wrap my head around Lynne's every actions. The thought of Lynne inexplicably makes me wonder whether it was his cannon that fired this morning. I know that thinking about him will just make it worse and I resolve to ignore the bizarre feeling beginning to spur and worry about it tonight, when I can confirm if he's truly gone or not.

As I walk, I notice the trees' arrangement shift, like it did back when I reached the river, and start to become more spread out. In addition, the soft mossy ground I had grown accustomed to has slowly begun to fade away, leaving a densely packed mixture of grass and dirt. Not only that, but the breeze is picking up and I have to zip my jacket in order to stay warm.

My eyes narrow.

I must be approaching the mountains. The one place I've been avoiding this entire time. It's where I last saw the Careers go. It has been three days and it's possible they've retreated into the woods, but there's really no way to know for sure. I mean, the woods are a nightmare. The thought of those acid trees and those hallucinogenic bees flashe back and I conclude that whatever awaits me in the mountains must be better than what lies back in these woods. Besides, I'm sure it will help me clear my head.

It isn't too long before I eventually reach the border where the grassy terrain of the forest ends and the rocky slope of the mountain begins. I look up, spotting the peaks rising high into the air. I allow myself the time to rest. Knowing the state my hand is in, and the fact that if I run into anyone up there I won't be able to use a bow, I decide that I'll head up there tomorrow. I should spend the little time I have left until nightfall to refill my bottle, considering I've been rather foolhardy; taking more sips than I should have. It shouldn't be too hard to find freshwater, this arena seems to grant it at the snap of my fingers. Expect it always seems to come at a cost, like a pack of alligators in the water or a group of carnivorous plants near the bank.

As I begin my search, I think back to how I had almost died both times when reaching water. What is the motive in lacing all the ponds and streams? Are they trying to shrink us down? If that's the case, it certainly hasn't been very effective. Assuming the cannon I heard this morning was linked to this, that makes only one death. If they wanted to, I'm sure they could have conjured up something more efficient. Maybe they're lacing the water as a way to drive us together. But to where? The cornucopia? I'm assuming most of us are too deep in the woods, and from where I am, the cornucopia is at least a good day's journey away. It wouldn't be very practical. Where else could they be driving us to? Where am _I_ heading?

Then I know. Towards the mountains. There they can assure fights that won't be hidden by trees. That way we'll all be nice and out in the open. Easy to get a good view. There must be a myriad of freshwater there too. Rivers, lakes, waterfalls. Assuring that if you're willing to fight, then you'll be rewarded.

How clever of them. Bring us all to one spot in the hopes of starting another bloodbath. I'm glad I've pieced this all together because now I need to figure out how to play this. I can't let myself go up against the Careers. Maybe before, when my hand wasn't burned, I would have stood more of a chance and had to guts to fight, but now, since all I have is a knife, I need to devise another strategy. I could simply hide, wait for the others to beat themselves senseless and pick off whoever's left. There was a tribute like that, a long while back who I remember Abatha telling me about, a girl from 3. She waited next to the only source of freshwater in the arena, camouflaged herself into a thicket of vines, and waited for the others to kill themselves off. When there were only a handful of tributes left, most of whom were injured and exhausted, she easily finishing them off herself.

Maybe I could camouflage myself too, but I think back to the camouflage station and how little time I spent there, and what little time I did spend was mostly spent watching the other tributes. Besides, what would I even use to camouflage myself? I mean, there won't be any foliage up on the mountains. I can't hide in a bush like I did during the bloodbath. I'll have to figure it out tomorrow. Who knows, there might be a cave or something I can hide in and pick off anyone who tries to go in.

By the time I've mapped out my plan for tomorrow, the sight of dense trees and shrubbery catches my eyes and breaks my train of thought. It appears to be forming a circle around something, hiding whatever is behind the greenery. It seems oddly out-of-place, what with all the scattered trees around me. It's practically impossible to miss.

 _It's like they want me to find it._ I think, ominously.

The closer I get to it, the more sinister it seems to become. I can't back away because I know I need the water. My bottle's almost empty and I won't last long without it. Whatever horrific traps it holds are endless. But I do feel better knowing that it is laced with something. At least I'll be prepared.

As I'm getting closer, a familiar scent enters my nose. I push my way through the brush and see a small lake, less than a yard wide, the water it holds darker than usual, making it impossible to see how deep it goes. I don't see anything around it. No buzzing sounds, no orange trees, no strange plants, no hidden creatures.

I stare at the plain, darkened surface. Waiting for some mutt to jump at me from within its depths, but all I hear is silence. Instead of waiting for something to attack me, I crouch down and pull out my bottle.

I'm about to fill it up, but before, I dip my finger in and pull it out. It's not water. Water isn't red. Water doesn't smell like this. I don't need to check twice to know what it is. It's blood. Thick, foul blood. Standing before me is worse than anything I could have imagined. A lake, filled with blood. The smell, that's which is getting more and more repugnant is making me gag and I feel like I might puke again. I plug my nose, and close my mouth.

This can't be real. This isn't real. I slap my face in the hopes of waking myself up. I'm shaking my head, but I don't wake up. I don't wake because this isn't a dream. This isn't some nightmare. This is real. This nightmare is real.

As I'm backing away, I trip on one of the bushes with my boot and land square on my back. The impact on the hardened dirt is enough to knock the wind out of my and now I'm really choking. I gasp for air, while desperately trying to crawl away. I clasp both hands around my neck alarmingly.

 _This isn't real_ , I continue repeating in my head. I still can't breathe and the thought of that blood, swirling around in there, only makes it worse.

Then, I hear a ruffle coming from a bush on the other side. I'm expecting a tribute to leap out at me, but something far worse happens. Emerging from the shrubbery, I watch a large brown bear pad up to the lake. Behind it, two little cubs are following, poking their little heads out of the mother's fur. The mother bear sniffs the air, it's nose pointed in my direction, scenting my fear. I stare in horror, frozen in place and I see its red eyes gleaming at me. Those little baby cubs, suckling their mother turn to me too. Staring me down, their eyes as red as the water and then turn away in disinterest. They turn their focus to the lake instead. They dip their head and start to take lapping sips of the water with their tongues. When they're all filled up, with red saliva dripping from their mouths, they turn back to me. I watch the mother's teeth snare and growl ominously before turning away and disappearing back into the woods.

My mouth is wide open and I'm rubbing my eyes dry, but it's no illusion. I look back at the water, its sight is so strong it's like it's hypnotizing me.

I can only summon up one single thought.

 _Get out of here._

I stand up, the sky already dark, and flee. Flee like the scared, injured animal I am. Darting away full-speed, rushing through the trees, the branches cutting my skin and only the thought of getting away as far as possible from the lake.

 _Get out of here._

As I'm running, I hear the anthem play. I hear the booming trumpets sounding through the forest and I can see the sky through the trees. The face of a girl around my age, with the number ten below her name appears and then it's blackness.

Right when the music stops, a loud howl sounds from the direction of the mountains. I look over to it. I don't see anything. A loud howl suddenly fills my ears again, diverting my attention. I look around and scan through the darkness. Then, another howl responds. This time, much closer. I can't see anything, only trees. Then another one roars even louder from a couple yards away. It's coming closer.

 _Get out of here._

I arm my knife preparing for an attack, but nothing appears. I hear another one, but I can't tell from where. More start to howl. This time, from the trees right above me. It fills my ears and pierces them like a knife. More and more wolves' howls fill the air until it's an orchestra of unsettling noise that doesn't let up for even a second. It's so loud I can't hear anything else.

 _Get out of here._

It fills my ears, shatters my eardrums. It's like there's hundreds hollering right in front of me. It sends my head turning every which way, waiting for teeth to bite into my neck. They're everywhere, but nowhere in sight. I have no idea they're coming from, where they are, where they could be. It gets louder and louder.

 _Get out of my head!_

The sound is so unbearable, I cover my ears with both my hands, and feel the blood start to flow and the pain stab through my skin. The wolves are so deafening that I can't even hear my own screams escaping my mouth.


	13. The Mountains

"A little longer, Lila. Okay? I promise, then we'll go."

"You said that ten minutes ago!"

"Yes, well ten minutes ago I didn't know they were selling food."

"Yeah, but ten minutes ago you promised me you would."

"And ten minutes ago you said you would behave."

"I am behaving!"

"Then keep quiet."

"How are we even going to pay for this?"

"It's what they found on the ground, it can't be too expensive."

"But there's two of us!"

" _Three_ , actually."

"Three?"

"Yes, three."

"Who's the third? Abatha?"

"You haven't met him yet." I make my way through the crowd of people piled up in front of one of the kiosks. The sight of the Graneriers towering in front of me, blocking the warmth of the sun.

Her eyes widen. "Him? Who's him?"

"Shh, Lila. Here, hold my hand." I glance around the market filled with shops, in the hopes that I would find him. "Look, he said he'd be here. He told me he knew how to get some, alright?"

"How?" she asked, her shoulders touching my own.

"I guess he knows someone who works here, I don't know."

I hear his voice calling my name from behind. "Marisole!" It's coming closer. "Marisole, hey!" but he's nowhere in sight.

feel his hand catch my shoulder. "Hey! Are you deaf? I've been calling your name for ages!" he says to me.

I feel Lila's grip tighten as she cowers away behind me.

I ignore her and smile at him. "Sorry, it's pretty packed here." I look back to Lila. "Well, aren't you gonna say hello?" I pry.

She moves a little to the side, just barely enough to see her face and stares up at him shyly.

He notices Lila beside me. "Who's this? I didn't know you had a sister."

"Actually, I don't," I say, which only confuses him more.

"Hey there," he says kindly to her. "Don't worry, I don't bite." He crouches down to his knees and lets out his hand. "I'm Jackson."

I see Lila looking at apprehensively at his intentions.

I nudge her gently. "C'mon, don't be shy."

He carefully shakes his hand and moves away, but she keeps her gaze on him.

"What's her name?" he asks me.

"Lila," I reply.

"Lila," he turns back to her. "That's a pretty name."

She doesn't respond.

"She has a tough time with strangers," I explain. "Don't worry. Jackson's a friend." I whisper into her ear.

She looks to me hesitantly, then nods her head.

I see Jackson scanning the crowd. "Looks like it filled up rather quick, huh?"

I sigh. "Yeah, looks like we'll never get to buy anything."

He raises his eyebrow in amusement. "Who ever said anything about buying?" he says, and grabs my arm. "Here, follow me."

He ushers Lila and I through the crowd and towards the front. I see the people around us giving us nasty stares and we make our way to the vender.

"Shouldn't we be waiting like everyone else?" I ask, glancing back at our spot in the line, the one we just lost.

"Waiting is for fools. People with patience have small stomachs. Ever heard of that?" he asks, staring forwards.

"I can't say I have, no."

"I know someone who can help us," he says simply.

"You mean someone with money?" I ask excitedly, feeling my shrunken stomach growling with temptation.

"Not exactly," he says.

He stops next to the side of the kiosk. The hoards of people surrounding us, each shoving their way to buy a little food for themselves or their families. The winter air making them shiver and the kid's teeth chattering. It was the first year in a long time that we had snow. It just started snowing one day and the next morning the whole district was covered in cold white snow. It was really the last thing people here needed.

I see Jackson spot a old man with a long, messy beard, hollow eyes, and thin limbs; a pretty typical District 9 resident, except for his crooked jaw, that I assume he must've gotten from a fight with a Peacekeeper; another common occurrence.

He lets go of me and walks up next to him without looking him in the eye. I see Jackson reach into his pocket, pull something out and give it to the man. The old man inspects it and inconspicuously puts it in his pocket before disappearing back into the crowd.

I look to Jackson. He reads my expression that is telling him to explain to me what's going on.

"He's a… friend," he says.

"A friend?" I ask loudly. I don't know what he's gotten me into, but I know I don't like it.

"Yeah, he'll distract the vender for long enough, just long enough for me make the snatch, okay," he whispers, peering around to see if any Peacekeepers are around.

I shake my head and turn away. "C'mon, Lila. Let's go," I signal for her to head back, but I feel Jackson's arm stopping me.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

I yank it away, but don't respond.

"Look… Alright, look," he goes to stand in front of me, blocking my path. "Look, you said you needed some food. I told you I could get you some," he urges.

"Yes, but not like this," I say. I feel Lila's arm gripping me tighter.

"What are you gonna do? Go back in line. They'll be sold out by the time you get to the front," he says, pointing the the ever-growing lineup, stretching far past the road. I look at Lila, her eyes wide and hollow, then back at the people, most of whom are struggling to even stand. "What other choice do you have?"

I hesitate for a moment before speaking."Not this way. It's too dangerous," I say, spotting the Peacekeepers in the back, surveying the market like a pack of vultures.

"Please, Marisole. I want to help you. Let me help you. Let me help Lila. If you won't do this for me, then do this for her," he pleads. He crouches back down to her. "You hungry?" he asks.

I see her nod her head eagerly.

I stare at him, clenching my hand tightly. "Fine," I say sternly, but not meeting his gaze

He looks to me for a long while, before he lets out a half-smile. "You won't regret it."

"Let's hope so," I say.

I open my eyes, face first on the ground with my bloody hands still covering my ears.

After that day, I told myself I would never do it again. I would never put myself in that sort of risk. After that day, I swore I was done. But, of course, once you start, it's almost impossible to stop. He told me the risk I was putting myself was nothing compared to the risk I'd face if I let myself wait for the food shipments to arrive. And he was right, many in the orphanage starved that winter. Thankfully, Lila and I were still breathing. We were still well-fed. It was all thanks to him.

He knew how much I hated it. How much I wanted to protect Lila. How much I needed to be there for here. It wasn't until a year later when I started helping him out. He had a few close calls and he needed someone like me to help him out. I didn't want to at first, I was far too anxious, but, as it turns out, I'm a natural. After I figured that out, I knew I couldn't let him go on his own. It was too emotionally depleting. Waiting for him to come back, sitting in my room, chewing my nails and hoping, desperately hoping he wasn't caught. He needed me, and I needed him. Besides, we worked better together. It was all perfect.

It was all perfect…

I don't know how long I remain on the ground, my toes frozen solid and on the verge of frostbite, my ears still ringing and covered in blood, my hand numb from pain, but not as delicate-watching the shadows loom over the mossy patches of grass and stabbing my knife into the delicate, dirt ground. Like butter. The very thought makes my stomach growl. Oh, what I would do for some of that nice orange-flavoured lamb stew I had back in the Capitol. Just a spoonful. That's all I want.

I hear my stomach grumble and think back to a day during the winter, before I had started stealing. How hungry and desperate I was. Weak. Tired. Hopeless. It's not much different than I am now. In here.

The sound of the wolves still replays in my head. The howling had not died down all night. Not once. After I realize that plugging my ears was pointless, I let the noise bore into them all night. With not a lick of sleep, all night. Just a constant flow of blood from my newly opened wound and the prospect of something sinking its teeth into my neck.

The thought of home had given me some strength. The sight of those starving people waiting in line for moldy, rotten food assures me there are worse things one can face. Worse than being in the Games.

I need to worry about making it through today, since I'm almost certain the Gamemakers are planning something big any moment now. One death won't be enough, and even though I've been dreading it, the thought of heading up the the mountains is finally seeping in. I need to get there before too many other tributes show up. That was my plan, and I'm sure the howling has rendered the other's slightly dazed and it will give me the time to set myself up before anyone else.

I pick myself off the dirt and grab ahold of my bow. I unwrap the bandages and see my hand covered in blood my the new opened wound, but when I touch the metal surface, the pain is much more tolerable. I decide to practice shooting a few arrows into the trunk of a tree for good measure. As long as I don't hold too long on the string, I can manage.

I pack up my things and prepare myself for the day ahead. If the Gamemakers want to go to the mountains, then to the mountains I will go. I'd much rather be there than in here. Now that I've seen those bears and the blood-filled lake, the mountains seem more like a heaven of sorts. Away from the horrors of the woods. And if I'm right, any water there will probably be left untouched.

I arm my bow, feeling more confident than I can last remember and continue heading west.

I pause when I reach the rocky slope I had seen yesterday. Even though these mountains are surely ample size for me to trudge through unnoticed, and considering I can use my bow again, I'll have to be extremely careful. There's still fourteen of us left, including five Careers. And odds are, most of them are either heading to the mountains or are already there waiting.

I spend most of the morning walking through territory completely foreign to me. The trees slowly start to disperse and the slope starts to get steeper and steeper. There's a cold wind blowing from the east and turning my face blue. Thankfully, the boots I'm wearing make the journey much easier, and I don't have to worry too much where I step thanks to the soles. These were made for climbing up mountains. The Gamemakers must've have really wanted us to come here.

By the time I've started to see snow and the two massive peaks are towering over me, I hear a cannon fire. I can hear the hovercraft somewhere not too far, confirming that the others have already begun to brawl it out up here.

Eventually, I reach and indent in the side of the mountain that plateaus, leaving a wide, flat ridge that I scamper up to.

I sit down and take it all in. Despite the fact that I'm in the arena, I can't help but admire the view. The pink sky has finally faded, leaving behind a cloudless blue horizon. I see the thick woods below me, stretching far into the east. From here, I can even see the cornucopia, far away on the other side of the arena, the gold surface reflecting the rays of the sun and the crystalline lake beside it. It's breathtaking, no matter how sinister. The mountains, towering over the edge of the arena make it all look so insignificant. I can see that they stretch for miles both north and south. From here, I can even see the eagles, soaring above the treetops below me.

I allow myself time to organize my supplies and count the arrows in my quiver while I watch. Twelve. That's how many I have. Is that supposed to represent the number of districts or something? Got to hand it to the Gamemakers, their creativity is really starting to be noteworthy. Well, either way, it's plenty enough to kill the Careers many times over.

I hook the straps again, zip up my jacket, and continue moving along the ridge.

I notice the ground below my feet start to become thinner the more I head North. I'm careful as to where I place my feet, incase I the ground beneath me accidently gives way and I fall to my death. I look down the cliff of rocks falling into a large chasm below. I kick a small pebble down and hear it ricochet down, but I never hear the impact.

 _It must be a long drop._

Fortunately, the path starts to widen as I approach the base of the second peak and my heart stops beating as fast. However, the sight of a discarded camp catches my eyes and I quickly load an arrow and scan the area. All I can hear is loud sound of the wind whizzing through the air and the eagles' boisterous cry to my right.

I reach the camp and find it abandoned. The spits of coal used to make a fire aren't hot, meaning it's been deserted for a long time. I examine the remains. Would anyone really be this careless in covering up their tracks? This seems to be the camp belonging to someone who didn't care whether someone found them or not. Besides, who would light a fire this high up, in the middle of the open, where anyone in the arena could see them. There's only one group of people who could have been here. The Careers. They must have set up camp here on the first night, while hunting tributes in the mountains.

I better keep going.

I look back up at the sky. I've never been this high up before and I know, despite how real it seems, that it must end somewhere not too far up from where I am. The sky is only an illusion; part of the forcefield. Meant to seem real to us below. I'm contemplating shooting an arrow into it just to see how far up it goes, but I'd lose the arrow and risk the chance of someone spotting me and discovering my location. For all I know, the Careers may be much closer than I'm anticipating. I come to the conclusion that it must be high enough if they can fit these mountains in here. Although, the two peaks I see above me might not even be real. It might just be another illusion and that the forcefield is actually much closer than it seems. I'm not an expert at this, but I'm pretty sure than creating an entire mountain range and placing it in the arena isn't very practical, especially considering how the path to the peak is too steep to climb anyhow. But the sight of the snow blowing in the wind and vivid texture of the rocky surface in front of me still gives me doubts.

I remind myself that arenas can't go on forever. They all have to end somewhere. The forcield is meant to create the impression that the arena goes on forever. Sometimes, it's so hard to detect, tributes end up electrocuting themselves by accident. It's not the most entertaining of deaths, but not very avoidable either.

I decide that frying is not the way I want to go out, and since the ridge ends here anyways, I decide to climb downwards in the hopes of finding a cave or some shelter to camp out in.

The path downwards is twice as threatening and after a few close-calls, I arrive at another base closer to the edge of the woods. However, now that I've travelled much farther north, I see the treeline below me end and an alluring flower meadow begin. The same one I had seen the morning the Games began. It stretches all the way back to the cornucopia and around the lake. The purple, white and blue colors, all mixed together is hauntingly lovely. But the sight of those flowers undoubtedly sends tingles up my spine. Maybe they're all filled with those awful bees. I can only imagine how many must live there. Hiding. Waiting. The fact that I'm high up and far away calms me down a little, though.

Since I haven't found any water, I decide to scoop up a pile of snow off the ground with my bottle and hope that the heat in my bag will be enough to melt it. There's no way I'm going back into the woods for more.

I remain on the ledge, watching the sun rising in the sky, and the arena stretch out in the distance.

I keep watching until I observe something roaming through the meadow and heading in the direction of the woods. From here it's hard to see clearly, but I can make out its scarlet coat and bristling fur.

A fox.

Walking on all fours through the patches of flowers. I could hunt it down and use its fur for some extra warmth, but I don't really feel like following it. But there's something off about it. The way its walking. Like it's not used to being on all fours. It takes long pauses in between steps and awkwardly jerks its head and limbs at times. Before I can get a closer look, it vanishes into the treeline and it doesn't take long before I forget about it.

It's afternoon when I decide to look for a place to camp out. The woods are out of the question and there's something about the mountains that I don't like so I find it best to settle down somewhere in between the two. Somewhere when the trees end and the mountains begin.

I start to head down. The ground isn't as steep anymore and the boots make the effort much easier. What's weird, I notice, is that the wind is blowing fiercer than it ever has before. Even more so than when I was near the peak. A few times I feel as though I might send me flying away. I don't know what's causing it, but I know it can only mean trouble. The thought of something bad about to happen gets me running. I hop down as cautiously as I can, bouncing from one ledge to another until the ground becomes more stable and I see the grass of the forest begin.

The sounds of birds flying away sharpens my senses. They must be flying away from something. I even see the eagles disperse. Then I hear their cries. A huge flock flutters above, blocking the view of the sun. The ground below my feet starts to shake and I hear a vehement rumbling noise coming from the mountains behind me.

I hear a girl's scream coming from somewhere up the mountain and a cannon fire.

Around me, I hear the sound of animal's paws darting away on the ground, trying to flee.

My gut tells me to follow them, but I know I'll never catch up.

I barely reach the base of a tree when I see the mass avalanche of snow crashing down and barreling towards me.

I hoist my bow around me and start climbing, ignoring the pain it sends to my palm as I grab ahold of the rough, black bark. I'm a good ways up when a blast of wind almost knocks me out of my tree. I feel the frame sway to the side and the rest of the trees around me do the same. The sound is so loud it's like an explosion pulling me back and deafening my ears. I see the snow barreling towards me and I prepare myself for the blow, hoping I've climb high enough to not be eaten away by it. I grip my arms around the trunk as hard as I can and squeeze my thighs tightly in case my hands give way.

I have just enough time to close my eyes before the impact.

The sound of the snow hitting the ground is so loud I can't hear anything. The trunk starts to shake violently as it tosses me up and down. For a brief moment I feel as though the tree and myself will both go flying, but it remains rooted down. The pain on my palm is so great, however, I eventually have to let go and I feel myself falling towards the ground.

Another cannon sounds when I hit the snow. I barely make it out since all I can hear is the sound of the avalanche coming to a halt somewhere nearby in the distance. My head is spinning in circles, around and around endlessly. Fortunately, the snow cushioned my fall, but I'm sunk in the surface and trying my hardest to escape. It's so cold my teeth won't stop chattering, but I use all my strength to free my arms and use my bow to hoist myself out.

I make sure to secure all my things and heave my way through the debris.

Behind me, the mountains are completely covered, the ground is blanketed fully and some trees are scattered around, ripped from their roots and sticking out from the ground like discarded twigs. Near the peaks, I hear more rumblings, although not as large. I know the ground isn't stable and there could be another avalanche at any moment, so it gets me moving.

I'm not as dizzy anymore so I finally start moving. Every step I take plunges my boots deeper into the snow and I'm exhausted when I finally reach the point where the snow ends. The sight of the shadowy trees only makes me worse. Now that the mountains are paved over with snow, there's no way I can go back there. There's only one place I can go. Back into the woods. That must have been their intention. The Gamemakers are using the avalanche as a way to shrink the arena and force us into the woods. To bring us together. I can't say I'm surprised. It was only a matter of time. I'm lucky I wasn't as high up because then I'd surely be dead. Whoever those cannons belonged too must have had the same idea as me.

The thought of the other tributes gets me running again. It will only be a matter of time before those who were near the edge of the treeline, like myself, realize what the Gamemakers are trying to do. I'm bound to meet someone if I stay here. And anybody who was in the woods will be probably start making their way here, hoping to finish off any tributes caught in the snow.

I barrel towards the trees. I know I said I'd never come back here, but I don't have any other choice.

The snow stretches farther into the woods than I had expected. I'm in such a state of shock that I don't really know where I'm going, but the sound of a girl's voice stops me in my tracks.

I hide behind the trunk of a tree and prick my ears for the sound again. I crouch down and lie on my belly. I crawl forwards until I'm out of the safety of the forest and back at the sight of the avalanche.

There aren't many trees so I move slowly, bow loaded. In front of me, I see the girl from 2, Embrose, her back facing me. I hear her cursing and see her swinging her axe furiously at the snow. She's a few yards away, but I remember the ten she scored in training. I've seen her thrown that thing in training and she could kill me easily where I lie.

She seems to be alone. From here I can see her arm bleeding and her hair and clothes soaked from the snow. I'm guessing the avalanche separated her from the rest of the group. So, the Careers were, in fact, in the mountains when the avalanche went off. I smile when I consider the possibility that the two cannons might have belonged to her allies.

Embrose calls out someone's name, but no one answers. I watch her stoop down to the ground in defeat.

I crawl as quietly as I can, like a mouse moving through the snow, and hold my breath. I have my bow aimed at her as I, ever so slowly, move my knees forwards.

Suddenly, Embrose's ears prick up at the sound of my movement and she immediately turns around.

It all happens so fast and I don't have time to think because I reflexively let the arrow fly as soon as I see her turn to me in alarm. She barely has time to throw the axe in my direction, but it's too late because I watch the arrow lodge into her eye. Her cannon fires the moment her body hits the ground. Her axe, an inch away from my skull, planted deep into the snow.

I exhale and stare at her corpse in dismay.

The sound of her hovercraft appearing out of thin air from the sky springs to me feet and dart towards her. I see the arrow and yank it out without looking and wipe the blood off the tip. I head back towards the woods and in the last second I remember the axe she threw and scoop it up off the ground. By the time I've fled into the woods, I glance back and watch a set of metal claws reach down and carry her away for good. Dead.

I stuff the axe into my bag and continue running deeper and deeper into the woods.


	14. Mercy

The image of my arrow piercing Embrose's eye replays endlessly in my head. The thought of how easy it was, how quick. How I ended her life in seconds, by the pull of my string, won't leave I've killed countless animals, but I've never experienced something like this. I think back to her face when I went to pulled the arrow out. The surprised expression in her one eye. I push the thought of the girl from two out of my head. Why should I feel guilty? If anyone deserved it, she did. Who knows how many have died at her hands. That axe was bloody last I saw her back at the cornucopia.

By the time I've settled down near a cluster of trees, with my back to the bark and curled up cozily in my sleeping bag, the sky is dark, the owl are watching me with their big round eyes in the dark, and the creatures of the night are waking up to play.

I picture my name on a screen with the number one next to it. See, next to all the tributes there's a list of kills next to each name. And yes, Embrose would be my first kill, but she's a Career. I bet she didn't show any mercy when she killed any of her victims.

No matter how much I want to despise her and tell myself to let it go, I can't. I can't because the sight of her reminds me that she's just a kid. Reaped to compete in this Games. Just a pawn. Just like me. Pawns of the Capitol.

I expel the thought of her and her death out of my mind. I know there's no point in grieving.

It isn't long before I see the Capitol seal high up in the sky and hear the anthem begin to play that my attention changes to the nightly forecast. I know there have been four deaths today-the one I heard this morning, and the three after the avalanche-and I watch their faces tick off one-by-one.

The first to appear is the girl from District 1, who I'm assuming died from the avalanche; the one whose scream I heard up in the mountains, then it's the boy from 2. Embrose's face appears next and I shudder when I notice her blood still on my hands.

Her brother won't be happy, but it's nice to know that District 2 won't be having a victor this year.

Finally, it's the boy from 11, who supposedly died this morning. The seal flashes back for a moment and then it's blackness.

There's now only ten of us left. Today's event has certainly withered us down substantially. I try to figure out who is left. The faces I had seen confirm that the Careers were still camping out somewhere in the mountains when the eruption hit, and if two of them died from the avalanche, then they must've been close to the summit. I recall how bruised up Embrose had been when I had seen her. Those who've survived are bound to be injured. And even if they're not, there's only two of them left. Treck and the boy from 4. That's uncommon. The Career pack-for the most part-usually hunts the rest of us down until they're the only ones left. Only then do they start turn on eachother. But now that they're so few, the prospects of coming home are really starting to sink in.

My mind scrambles to figure out who else is left. I mean, apart from the remaining Careers, who is there left that's actually a threat? There's still the boy from 3, who I can't remember anything about. Same goes for both tributes from 8. There's that boy from 12 that I remember seeing during training, but I can hardly even recall his face. There was that tribute who was chasing me through the woods, but I couldn't really see who they were. It could have been him, but there's no way to know for sure. The only real threat is that little girl from seven, and Lynne.

The very thought of him is overwhelming. It's been only a week since the Games began, but I feel like I haven't seen him in forever. He's certainly dangerous too. I bet he's had a steady stream of sponsors helping him out ever since he's stepped foot in here. And if he's got his hands on a sword he's bound to be lethal.

So that makes four. Four real enemies. Four deadly obstacles I must face before coming home. It sounds a lot easier than it actually is. Treck on his own is enough keep me busy. However, the realization that his supposed girlfriend has died is bound to deteriorate his love-sharade and his favorability with the sponsors.

Wait, but doesn't that only make eight tributes? There should be one more. I can't remember who the last one is, but I don't let myself get too worked up on it because for the first time since the Games began, I feel a little more confident in my odds, and I drift off to sleep.

The sound of my stomach grumbling wakes me and warns me to start hunting again. Now that my hand is better, there's no reason to wait any longer. I want to make hunting down the rest of the field my number one priority as soon as possible.

I scramble out of my sleeping bag and start my search. By the time the sky has turned blue, I've successfully shot a squirrel and begun to skin it. I actually encountered another one, but I missed my shot and foolishly lost my arrow. By the second time, I was more lucky.

I wrap the squirrel in the bag of plastic and decide to eat the fruit, since it's sure to turn bad any day now.

Now that I've satisfied my hunger and replenished my thirst, I spare the time to start a fire. Thanks to the matches, I get one started in a matter of minutes, and let the meat roast of the fiery pits. I make sure the smoke is clearly visible. I want others to see it. I want them all to know where I am. I cook the squirrel and take my time devouring it, but no one appears. It must be too obvious of a sign. The others must suspect it's a trap and the Careers are probably still recovering.

Oh well… It was worth a shot.

I hastily put out the fire, not being as careful when covering it up, and head towards the woods, keeping the mountains to my back. Maybe I should go back to the cornucopia. There's a chance I could salvage something and I might even run into someone on the way there. But that's too far away. Most of the us will still be near the edge of the forest where the mountains meet. If I want to find someone, I should probably stick to walking along the edge of the treeline so I turn back.

As I'm walking along the border, I get a better view of the destruction the avalanche has caused. Uprooted trees and rocks have been flung in every direction like a someone had picked them up and thrown them messily away. The trees that are still standing are for the most part tilted to the side, and in certain places the snow ended up covering most of the forest floor. There's no sounds of animals either. Most have fled and I'm sure won't ever come back.

I'm glad I decided to stay because it isn't too long before I end up finding just what I'm looking for. A trail of blood leading from the mountains and into the woods. I load an arrow and decide to follow the trail, even though it might be a trap. I remember the axe I had taken from Embrose. I pull it out and hoist it on my belt, just in case this gets messy.

The trail leads me deep into the woods. The blood on the ground becomes more visible the more I follow it. There's occasional blood splatters on the leaves of bushes and on the trunks of the trees. Whoever this belongs to wasn't very mindful of covering it up. It seems as though they were running from something. Maybe another tribute who had the same idea as me.

The trail eventually cuts short and I'm left searching for another indication of where they went. I try to spot any footprints. I revert back to the last of the blood and notice the ground leading to the left flattened. They must've have headed this way. Where the trees start to get more dense. With my bow loaded and ready, I continue searching. For a moment, I think I've lost the trail again, since I spot no blood or footprints, but I keep moving until I see a small clearing in the distance. I watch my steps, making sure not to step on a branch or a twig, and stealthily approach the open space. When I reach the outline of trees, I make sure to hide myself between two tall bushes and scan the area for any signs of life.

In the clearing, there's a large fallen tree, the trunk of which look like it's been ripped apart from the stump. For a moment, I think it's empty and that I should look somewhere else, but the sight of blood alerts me that someone is there. I scan my surroundings again, wondering if it's a trap.

Suddenly, I hear a soft moan resigning from the other side of the tree. They must be injured. I make my way out of the treeline and into the clearance. I aim by bow, and keep my eyes peeled in case someone jumps up behind me. When I'm a few feet from the base of the tree, I make out the black hair swaying in the wind. I'm hoping it's one of the Careers so that I can finish them off, but when I finally get a good look at their face, I know it's not.

Before me lies a boy, no older than me, covered from head-to-toe in blood. I can see the gashes across his pale face and the chunks of flesh torn off in his leg and shoulder, ripping the fabric clean off. He's trying to hold the blood in, but it's pouring out nevertheless.

He looks to me with his green eyes, staring at the arrow I have pointed at his heart. His expression is one of defeat. He can barely speak, but I can hear him mouth the word "please".

From looking, I can tell his wounds are fatal. There's no way I can help him. The only thing I can do is put him out of his misery.

I look to him with pity. My hands trembling, because I know what he wants me to do. He knows I could make it quick.

I see him close his eyes, waiting for the blow, but I let the bow drop.

I shake my head.

He opens his eyes and reaches for my sleeve.

I impulsively back away, expecting him to lunge at me with a knife and aim my bow again, but all he does is stare at me with desperation.

He nods his head.

"I can't," I mutter. Tossing the bow to the ground.

He watches it fall and I can tell he's disappointed.

He doesn't respond, but instead turns forwards and leans his head on the fallen tree trunk. I see the tears falling from his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I-I can't do it," I say, approaching him slowly.

I look down to his wounds. No tribute could have caused this. The teeth marks, the hunks of flesh taken out. It must have been an animal. A bear from the looks of it. Like the one I had seen near the blood lake. He must've encountered it after the avalanche and somehow gotten away, barely alive. Waiting for death. And now I show up, like a wish come true, here to end the pain for him. To send and arrow into his heart.

But I can't.

I look down at my bloody hands. I still haven't had time to wash them. The sight of Embrose's death. How _I_ killed her. How _I_ was responsible for her death. I can't bring myself to do it again. I'm afraid of what I'll become if I do.

He looks to me, spotting my distraught.

He looks down to his wounds, lifting his hand and showing me the real degree of the attack. The skin ripped away, all the way to the bone.

I want to vomit again.

I want to run away from this awful sight and this awful place and these awful Games, but I can't. I can't leave him to suffer. To suffer here all alone.

I quickly unwrap the bandages from my palm.

I show them to him, hoping that he'll understand what I'm doing, no matter how futile.

I hear him sigh and lift his hands from his leg.

I carefully wrap the gauze around his leg.

I hear him cry out in pain and block his mouth with my hand. His faces becomes even paler and he looks like he might pass out, but I tie the knot and let him exhale.

I know it won't stop the bleeding because it turns red in a matter of seconds, but I want him to know I'm trying.

That the people watching will know that I'm trying.

That Lila will know I'm not some cold-hearted monster.

So that I know I still have some humanity.

We sit there, leaning on the fallen tree and watch the sun begin to set.

I pull out my bottle and offer it to him, but he shakes his head.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Yes," he croaks, barely audible, but just enough for me to hear his voice.

I look to him and he looks to me.

I know he's right. He knows he's out of this Game, and there's no point in me wasting my water if he's going to die.

His jacket ruffles up against my own. He hasn't zipped it up, despite how cold it's getting, but I notice the gray-colored stripe running down the black fabric. I can tell he's the boy from District 8. I think his name is Tamin or Tahlin, or something like that, but I'm not sure. Although apart from that, I can hardly remember anything about him. Not his parade outfit, his training score, or even his interview. I can tell that talking will be far too straining for him, so I don't bother asking him anything else.

Eventually, I look away we both stare blankly into the trees until the shadows start to grow larger and larger.

After a long silent pause, I see him reach over beside him to a small orange backpack. I can tell he doesn't have much.

He pulls out a small knife with a bent blade.

He offers it to me.

I accept his gift. Knowing that he's going to die, he'd rather I make use of it. If I were in his position, I would do the same thing. I'd want him to win, so that someone else stands a chance. So that someone apart from the Careers will finally be crowned and break their loathsome streak.

"Thank you," I whisper.

I can see the tears forming in his eyes again.

He looks up to the sky, the pretty orange sky as the sun starts to set across the horizon. I can tell it's calming him down.

He glances at my bloody axe tied to my belt. "How-" he starts coughing blood out of his mouth.

I try to help him, but he shoves me away.

He eventually stops and looks back to me. "How many have you killed?"

I think back to Embrose. "Just one. The girl from 2," I say, with so much pain it's making my throat hurt.

"Good," is all he says before staring back up at the sky.

The sight of her blood on my hands makes me tear up. With no control. I don't know if it's the guilt of having just killed someone, the pain of seeing my loved ones only a few days ago, the sight of this boy and the pity it's causing me, or just that fact that I haven't had an interaction with another human in so long, but I can't stop.

I can see his stare filled with worry.

Then he does something completely unexpected.

He leans in and hugs me, despite the pain it causes him.

"It's okay," he says softly.

"It's not," I say.

"Just tell,"-he coughs again, spewing more blood from his mouth until it's drenching his shirt-"tell mom that I miss her," he says.

I stare at him in confusion. "Mom?"

"Okay, little sis. I just want her to know that I love her. And that I've always loved her. Please take care of her," he says, sobbing too.

I'm so baffled at his words, I don't speak.

"And dad too. Tell both of them," he says.

He pulls something out from his pocket.

I see the crumpled up piece of paper in his hands as he unfolds it, showing a picture of a young girl, with black hair and the same green eyes.

Who I presume to be his sister.

"I want you to have this," he says, offering me the picture.

He places it in my hand, but I push it back.

"I can't. I can't have that," I say, wondering what's going on through his head.

He stares at me, in frustration. "What do you mean? Why not?"

"I'm not your sister," I say, shaking my head.

My words only make him more angry.

He wipes the blood off his lips before speaking. "What are you talking about. I've known you my whole life," he says, on the verge of crying again.

I want to explain to him that I'm not his sister, that there's no way she could even be here, but then I see lump on his other hand. The stinger still lodged in his skin.

A bee sting.

He grabs ahold of me with both hands, the blood pouring from his shoulder and onto my jacket. "Why don't you recognize me? Why don't you recognize me?" he cries.

I try to explain it to him, but I can't summon any words.

His shaking starts to become more violent.

"Stop!" I cry. "Please, stop!"

I see him grab ahold of the knife in my hand and pull it towards my neck.

"It's me, it's me! Don't you recognize your own sister?" I exclaim.

He turns his head to the side and lowers the blade.

There's a long pause before he hugs me again. "Oh, Lace. Is it really you?"

He lets go of me.

"Yes, it is," I lie.

"I just wanna go home," he moans.

"You will. Just close your eyes. Just close your eyes and when you open them, you'll be home. I promise," I say.

He listens to me and closes his eyes.

I see him lean his head back and breath in-and-out.

I'm shaking when he drifts off into sleep. One that I know will be his last.

Was he imagining seeing his sister? Did he really think that _I_ was his sister. I know there's no other explanation. I saw the lump on his hand. I think back to when I had gotten stung. How real Jackson and Lila seemed to me. At least he can die happy. At least he can, thinking he saw his sister. And told her he loved her. How I told Jackson I loved him. I hope he never wakes up. I hope he dreams forever.

I hear the anthem play in the sky, breaking my thoughts. No faces appear and all goes silent again.

Then, right as I'm about to fall asleep too, I hear the roar of the howling begin.

I press my hands to my ears, knowing it won't make much of a difference. I feel it piercing my eardrums like a knife. Sinking and cutting into my brain.

Then I hear the laughter. Laughter so maniacal it breaks through the deafening sound of the wolves, and I jump away.

The boy from 8 begins to holler at the top of his lungs, laughing uncontrollably until he's bursting into tears.

I scream.

I scream so loud he turns to me and looks at me with wide eyes.

The eyes of a lunatic.

He grabs the knife from the ground and crawls toward me.

I crawl backwards, but he doesn't look away.

I see him lick his lips.

I see his eyes, eager to send the blade through my flesh.

"STOP!" I scream, but it's barely audible and he ignores me.

I see him twisting the knife in the air, imaging how it will go through my skin.

I grab my bow and yank out an arrow from the quiver.

I load it in an instant and aim it at his head.

"STOP!" I yell again, but he keeps coming closer, the knife still gripped in his bloody white hand.

I see the blood start to come out of his eyes and I scream louder than I ever have before in my life.

Before he come any closer, I send the arrow into his skull.


	15. The Fox

**Just wanted to put a warning for some readers, this chapter has some pretty gnarly stuff. Don't say I didn't warn you.**

* * *

I know his canon fired, but I can't hear it. The howling makes it an impossibility and it's only growing louder. The sight of the boy from 8 is so nightmarish, the arrow in his head, the blood coming from out his eyes, dripping down his face. I can't hear anything, and now that I can't hear, I can only watch. Watch what this boy has become, watch what I've done, watch what they've done to us all. Even in the dark, the moonlight above gives me a clear, white view of his face and body, lying on the ground, facing me, his arm outstretched, the knife in his hands, the picture of his little sister in the other.

It doesn't take long before I'm running through the woods, trying to outrun this endless nightmare. Again. The moonlight above is now barely visible and I can hardly see. A few times, I almost smash into a tree. My mind isn't working anymore. I'm too afraid of what it will conjure up. I can't think because the sound of the wolves seems to be getting even louder. I know there's no real point in covering it up, so I let them scream. I let myself take it in. What's strange is that it actually helps.

I stumble through the trees until I reach a meadow filled with colorless flowers sprouting up through the ground like weeds. I don't bother to worry about the bees that might be lurking and simply let myself collapse onto the ground. I'm out before my face hits the earth.

Mornings are now the worst for me. That horrendous pink sky, those annoying little chirping birds. It's so repulsive. I miss the howling. Because now, all I hear is silence, and all I hear is that boy's voice, calling out for me. Calling out for help.

I'm lying face first in the grass when I finally do wake up. I'm surrounded by yellow flowers. Forming a silhouette around my tired body and blowing in the wind. They all seem to be facing me. Watching me. Judging me. Trying to pin it all on me. Make me feel guilty. And the worst part is it's working. Because I do. I yank a patch of them out near my head with my hand and throw them as far as I can away, but all I see are more and more yellow petals taking its place. Anger bristling through their stems. Angry that I've killed their brothers.

Then I see his dried blood on my hands and I want to scream. I desperately attempt to wipe it off with my sleeve, when that doesn't work, I scrape it along the grass, when that doesn't work I try to wash it off with my saliva. Finally, I bring it to my mouth and try to lick it off. Like some maniac.

A faint dinging noise sounds from above. I'm expecting an eagle to soar downwards and scoop me up into the air to eat me alive, but rather, I see a silver parachute descending from the sky and landing gently onto the cushion of flowers below. I ignore it and turn my head away. Then I hear Avain's voice, the expression on his face that's telling me I'd better open it or else. And I eventually do and it gets me to my feet.

Inside the meager, robust metal container, I find a pack of salted crackers. I'm about to throw them away when I spot the note clinging on the side.

 _Hope you're hungry._

 _\- Avain_

I roll my eyes and look up at the sky so that he can seem I'm very much not in the mood for jokes. So that they all see that no amount of sponsorships could possibly cheer me up. Not anymore. I decide to stuff it in my bag regardless of how little I care for it. Salted crackers do sound delicious, and I'm not sure I have to willpower to kill myself another animal. I make sure to munch on one before putting it away.

The rest of the day I spend walking aimlessly. Not being very alert of the others. Not bothering to load my bow, or arm my axe, or take much pleasure in anything really; not that there's anything to take pleasure in. I do spend some time taking tenuous sips from my bottle and shooting my arrows into the trunk of a tree for a little while, and when that gets boring I eventually settle down in plain view for the night, despite the fact that it's only mid-afternoon. I don't want to be awake when the anthem plays, I don't want to see the face of the boy from 8. It doesn't really matter anyways, since no cannons fired today.

There's no howling that night and the next day is mostly the same. The same pink sky in the air, the same scent of mine mingled with flowers, the same steady breeze. It's harder to get up today, than it was yesterday. Probably because Avain hasn't sent me a parachute to get me moving. He's clever. I'll give him that. It must be his way of keeping me sane, but it will only last so long. Whatever few sponsors I have aren't going to keep me supplied for much longer. Things are starting to get really expensive now. It's been, what? More than a week. Seems like longer.

The sound of birds ruffling through the treetops redirects my attention.

It's not a parachute that gets me moving today, it's the sound of a cannon. So I guess the others are still at it. Still fighting to get home. Now that the mountains are covered in snow, and we're all forced to stay in the woods, the fighting is only going get more frequent. It's comforting to know that the Gamemakers will leave us alone for today. But I know that won't last long.

I rummage through my supplies, hoping to make note of what things I actually have. There's the container of crackers, my knife blade and axe, my blood-soak roll of bandages, and my precious sleeping bag which I haven't been using much of lately. I have to admit, that is fairly stupid. It's a miracle I haven't frozen to death these past few nights.

I look down at my near empty bag.

My supplies are scarcer than I thought, and they're only going to keep dwindling down. I wish I had the guts to have grabbed more than this one backpack. That way I wouldn't have to be worrying all the time about hunting for more food, or searching for water to fill up my bottle. But then I'm reminded of the amount of courage it took to break out of the foliage and jump out of my bush after the Careers had left. The thought of the risk I had taken to get to where I am now makes me shudder. It's weird how that works. Looking back, everything seems so much easier. It isn't until you're actually in the middle of things that everything becomes that much scarier. Oh well. No point in dwelling on the past. What's done is done. Who's dead is dead. Frankly, I should be happy that I'm still breathing.

I spot my bow resting beside me and I let out a pleasant sight of relief.

 _At least I have you._ I whisper to it. Like it's someone sitting beside me.

There's only eight of us left. Eight, from the twenty-four who entered, left to duel it out. They're probably interviewing our friends and families back home. Talking to Abatha, and Jackson, and Lila. People in the orphanage will be excited to bet getting all this attention. It's not the first time we've had tributes reaped, but never has one gotten this far. I can only imagine all those nasty girls in the orphanage, shoving their way through the others for the chance at being in front of the cameras. Pretending like we've been friends for ages when, in reality, we've been as friendly towards each other as hungry cougars. Besides, there's not much to talk about me expect my insanity.

I laugh.

I quickly clasp my hand over my mouth and wait for an onslaught of pursuers to burst through the trees. I arm my bow, aiming it from side-to-side. Like when the fire I had made, no one shows up. I wait a little longer just to be sure, but I remind myself how few of us are left, and that it's a big arena. I'm sort of glad I was put on alert because I'm on my feet and it makes it substantially easier to veritably do something productive today.

I decide to do the only thing that will offer me some bliss. Hunting. Might as well start restocking my supplies now. Those crackers won't last very long.

I'm packed up and on the move in a matter of minutes. The thought of District 9, rooting me on, offer me the strength and renewal I need in order to hunt, and sharpened my senses.

I spending a good hour wandering through the woods, with the silent sound of my boots trudging interminably through the pines and moss, before spotting a small little bird with sleek orange feathers resting on the foot of a slender branch and take it out with one blow to the head.

I don't want to build a fire just yet. Knowing that the Careers have probably had enough time to recover, I'd much rather try to avoid them if possible, or anyone for that matter. I warp the bird in plastic and stow it away for later.

It's been a much warmer day than I can last remember. The breeze has been fairly absent and the sun has been beating down. I've been sweating by the bucket-full, which is unusual, and I unzip my jacket. Whether the Gamemakers are purposely altertering the climate as part of some adverse plan, I can't tell, but I chose to enjoy it and bask in the warmth for as long as I possibly can.

By nightfall, I'm settle between two large ferns and wriggling into my sleeping bag when I hear the sound of lapping water in the distance.

There's a full-moon up in the sky, yet the obscurity of the night is covering the ground like a thick blanket, and it's hard to see where the noise is coming from, but I definitely hear something. I stuff my supplies hastily away and grab my bow.

There's another sound, this time it's of bushes shaking. I remain quiet and begin to approach the sound. It's too early to tell if it's an animal or another tribute. I think back to the boy from 8, the gashes and torn flesh mawed by the teeth of a hungry, mutated bear. Then the image of the mother and her cubs, lapping at the water, the water filled with blood. Her saliva, dripping red. I pull out my axe just in case.

I make sure to stay as hidden and silent as possible, the darkness makes it hard to see where I'm stepping, but I take my time. The sound of someone or something moving through the bushes eventually fades, but I continue walking in the direction of the noise.

It doesn't take long before I'm standing in front of a cluster of closely-packed trees with shrubbery surrounding the base. Something about this arrangement seems familiar. Have I been here before?

I grip my bow tighter and approach the sight. The sound of something hitting the water confirms that the person I'm stalking is still there.

When I reach the trees, I see the lake glowing in the moonlight and I instantly know where I am. Blood lake. I can't stop my eyes from widening and my heart from beating faster, because it's like I'm back in another nightmare. The waves of fear come back to me the moment I smell the scent of blood mingled with pine and I barely have enough time to crouch into the bushes when I see the face of a young girl turning her gaze in my direction.

I can't tell if she spotted me, but I can see her focusing towards me and trying to spot me through the darkness. I hold my hand over my mouth and don't dare to breathe. She reaches for an axe beside her, but eventually turns away and stars back into the water. I grit my teeth, hoping to stop myself from sighing with relief.

Even in the night, I can easily recognize her face. She small stature. Her black hair. Before me stands the girl from 7. Camping out beside the lake from the look of it. I don't know whether she tried to fill up her bottle, thinking it was just a normal lake, when she realized-like myself-that it's, in fact, blood. If that's true, then she certainly seems to be handling it far better than I did.

I watch her carefully as she gazes into the surface, her eyes knit in concentration. I don't know what she's thinking or doing, but I know the smartest thing to do right now would be to take her out. She's too dangerous to let go, and now that I've gotten the upper-hand, I could easily kill her from here undetected.

I slowly pull out a silver arrow from my quiver and load it in the string. I pause to make sure she hasn't heard me and discreetly point at her heart. She keeps her stare frozen on the dark, red water. I'm about to let it fly when the sound of footsteps coming from my right distracts me. The girl from 7 hears it too and reaches for the axe, but that's when I see-ever so clearly in the moonlight-the long wooden spear enter her stomach.

Her whole body twitches in fear and I hear her let out an abrupt shriek before plummeting backwards into the water. Her cannon fires and I'm frozen.

There's ripples across the surface and I barely catch her long strands of hair floating uptop. I'm so petrified that, for a moment, I think I'm hallucinating again, but I hear the attacker approach the lake.

My bow where the footsteps are coming closer, but my hand is shaking so hard I have to clench my grip firmly to keep still.

Nothing emerges and I'm thinking that somehow she died accidentally by a loose branch that got dislodged from a tree somehow, but then I see the orange fur emerge from the shadowed foliage.

A fox.

The same one I had seen back on the mountains. I watch which such bewilderment and dismay that I let my bow drop down. The furry animal advances to the bank of the water on all fours. This can't be real? What kind of fox is this? Some sort of mutt that uses carved wooden spears and can throw.

Then I see it get up from all fours and stand tall on its hind legs. Like a person. I watch it pull out the spear sticking out from the water and wipe off the blood.

It's hand, that seems to work like a human hand, reaches from its nose and rips off it's skin like a sheet of fabric. I'm expecting to see its insides appear, but something far worse does instead. Underneath the fur and skin, I see the boy from 12 poke his head out. He drops the hide on the ground and reaches into the water to drag the girl out, her blood mixing in with that of the lake's.

He grabs ahold of her leg and hauls her soaking body out, the blood covering her entirely and making her unrecognizable. I can't even tell where the wound where the spear entered from is because it all looks the same.

The boy from 12 drops his spear to the ground and crouches down. He starts inspecting her body, itching his nose closer and closer to her, like he's trying to sniff something out. Then I see his mouth open wide and his teeth snarled and start to eat her flesh.

Everything slows down, like I'm wading through dense honey, and I can't move, but watch the horror unfold in front of me. With a front-row view. I watch his hands rip away and pull out her flesh, his face feasting on her insides and the sound of him swallowing hard with each gulp.

I feel like I'm choking again, and I'm in another state of shock, and my eyes won't let me look away. I'm forced to watch. Not able to turn away no matter how much I screaming in my head.

Suddenly, I feel someone's arm pulling me back, but I still can't turn away. The force pulls me back, however, and gets me to my feet. Their pull gets stronger and stronger and before I know it, I'm barrelling through the woods, running away as fast as I can. When I can finally do look back, there's no one. Only the darkness of the forest. I don't have the time to question it because the sound of his stomach gurgling and the pleasure in his face gets me stumbling through the woods again. I can feel branches cutting my face, hitting the trunks of trees, tripping on tree routes and falling on the ground a couple of times, but I don't stop.

Things only get worse because now the wolves start to howl again, so loud I feel like my eardrums will explode and the inside of my head is bleeding. I scream. I scream and scream and scream at the top of my lungs, but no matter how loud I try, I can't hear myself, or anything again, and I'm about to rupture my diaphragm when the trees around me disappear and I arrive at another large clearing. Larger than I've ever seen before. I try to see where it ends, but it's too dark and it looks like it goes on forever. A strong, pungent smell enters my nose and I look down and see the red roses sprouting from the ground all around my feet in every direction I look.

This can't be real. This can't be real. This can't be real. This can't be real. I keep repeating in my head over and over and over, but I don't wake up. I slap myself hard on the cheek. Still nothing. I slap myself even harder. Nothing. Harder. Nothing. Harder! Still nothing. I feel my cheek start to hurt and surely turning purple so I decide to do the only thing I know how to do anymore. I run.

I can hear my boots trampling over the roses below and try to escape, but no matter how far I run, the clearing seems to expand and it never ends. The thorns of the stems pierce my pants and eventually my skin and it sends sharp pains through my leg and I fall on the ground. My hands block the fall, but I feel the thorns enter my palms and I scream again, but the howling drowns it out.

The blood on my hands mixes in with the red of the roses and then the clearing starts to shrink. I feel it start to enclose me slowly, the branches reaching out and choking me and I close my eyes and wait for the comfort of death.

I don't blackout. The sound of the howling stops and I open my eyes. The meadow and the roses are gone. I look down at my hands and expect to see bruises, but I don't. I look around and I'm not in a clearing at all, but somewhere in the woods, surrounded by trees. I look up and see the moon still high in the sky.

"This way," says a voice I can't recognize somewhere in the dark.

I glare at it and stand up.

"This way," it says again, echoing through the air. I follow it, somehow knowing where I have to go and my walking turns into a jog and then a sprint.

"Over here," it calls out and I rush towards it.

The voice stops speaking and I'm about to give up when I see the water off in the corner of my eye. I stare at it.

An impulse in my body that I have no control over forces me to approach it and unwillingly I do. My ears are still ringing, but I can pick up the sound of water splashing and a boy's maniacal laughter.

The laughter grows louder and louder and I eventually see his blackened figure dancing happily in the water, splashing it in every direction, pouring it over his head, and looking up at the bright, full, circular moon. His whole body is glowing, glistening from the blood soaking his skin and hair. I spot the roses growing around the bank and I keep moving forwards.

He turns to me, noticing my presence, enraged that I've disrupted his celebration. I look over to his orange hide and wooden spear, and witness the most terrifying sight in my life. I see the girl from 7's jacket on the ground, stained in blood.

The boy from 12 is staring at me, and his mouth turns to a grin. I see him lick his lips and suck his fingers one-by-one.

Before he can lung at me, a cannon sounds and I pass out.

I dream of nightmares. Ones so awful and vivid I can't decipher those that aren't real, and I simply let them play out, one-by-one, in flesh and blood, endlessly, over and over again. I don't know how many times I hear Lila's name reaped and I watch her death on the first day in the arena on a blurry television screen-there's a particularly cruel and awful one where she makes it to the final two, only to be slaughtered by a tribute from District 1. Or how many times I experience Jackson getting caught while stealing and watching a Peacekeeper put a bullet through his brain while Lila slowly starves back in the orphanage now he's not there to feed her. Or how many times I get eaten alive by a starving wolf who breaks through the farm and I'm screaming for someone to help me, but there's no one around.

By the time it's finally over, my whole body is numb and the sight of their deaths is no longer hard to watch anymore.

My surroundings are blurry and vague, there's a musty smell in the air and all I can make out is the moon still shining high above.

A fox stalks up to me, its paws moving effortlessly through the forest floor and sitting down in front of me. It's eyes black and voided. It's nose sniffing me out.

I don't flinch. I don't move. I don't react. I'm not capable of those things anymore. Not after what I've just witnessed.

The fox stares at me for a long time before opening its mouth. I'm expecting it to sink its fangs into my neck, but something far more menacing happens. It begins to speak.

"You should consider this punishment. For all those times you stole from helpless people trying their hardest to feed their families," its voice rumbles omnipotently through the forest. "How others died trying to support themselves and their loved one while you cheated the system and watched them cowering helplessly on the side of the road. Because you were too selfish and you were only thinking about yourself. And you were using them," the last part his voice gets especially loud and I see the anger bristling through his fur and goosebumps rising all over me.

"It didn't want to do it at first," I retort. "It was Jackson who made me do it. He got me into it."

It yowls in defiance. "And you blame others for your mistake and your actions. It's pathetic."

I shake my head. "It's not like that. I needed to protect Lila. I needed to keep her alive. I didn't have a choice!" I say, wiping the tears off my face.

It snares at me, it's sharp teeth showing clearly. "And you think those others on the streets had a choice. You think they wanted to starve to death? You should be ashamed of yourself."

The guilt building up inside, one I've been repressing and that's been building up for years finally emerges and it comes out like foul vomit.

"I know, I know," I whimper. Gagging on it.

"Already crying. All you do is cry. So easily too. Yet, you pretend to act so tough. What's the matter, don't you feel tough?" it asks vehemently.

I can't talk because I'm crying too much even though I'm urging myself to stop.

"What's the matter, can't stop? Fox got your tongue?" it laughs, but I start sobbing even more.

"STOP!" I cry out. To who, I don't know.

"Then stop," it says calmly. "But then, how could you. You didn't stop back on the train. You didn't stop when you were in the Capitol. And you can't stop now. Because behind all your bravado, is just a scared little girl. That's all you are. A child."

I gaze up to him in furry, my eyes flaring with fire. "That's not true. That's not true!" I cry back.

"Silly, silly little girl. Of course it is. How stupid. Only someone as stupid as you would think that Lynne was simply trying to be your friend. Even Lynne was smarter than you. Even he tricked you," it mocks.

I shake my head hard. I shake it so that I can drive all this away, it, me, Lynne. All of it. I want it to go away, because deep-down, I know it's telling the truth.

"But that's why you thought otherwise. Because-" I cut it off. Challenging it, it so that it doesn't say another word.

It isn't scared by my threat. It looks to me with an expression of delight and amusement. "Because you like him, don't you," it says slowly, beaming into eyes.

I look to it with so much anger I want to strangle it, but it anticipates it and backs away, chuckling in the darkness until it fades away.

"You like him. Secretly, of course. Oh, but what about that other sweet boy? What was his name again?"

"Jackson!" I scream back into the abyss.

"Jackson, that's right. Hm… I wonder what he'll feel about all this. What he must be thinking of you and your little romance with Lynne," it says, whispering into my ear.

I'm speechless for a moment. "That's not true. I love Jackson. He knows that-"

"Liar! Admit it. Admit it, you like him. You care about him. Your attraction is making you blind."

I clench my jaw. "No. No, that's not true. Lynne's a tribute, how could I.."

The fox appears in front of me, leaning its muzzle closer and closer to me, expecting an answer.

"How could you what?" it purrs.

With wide eyes I stare into its black pupils, searching for an answer.

"This isn't real," I say defiantly.

I watch the fox spring to its legs and dart around me. "Oh, this real? It's perfectly real. Never more real. Of course it's real. Don't you remember that poor girl, eaten alive by me."

The event replays in my head in disgust. "That wasn't you, it was…" by mind draws to a blank. I can't remember who. Wasn't it the boy from 12? But why did he look like a fox. This fox. "You killed him," I say in disbelief.

It lets out a satisfied growl and sits back down beside me. "Precisely. Guess you're not that stupid after all. She was delicious you know. My kind of taste."

I stare at it in horror.

"I'm an animal, what did you expect. You eat me, don't you? Don't you ever stop to think how repulsive that is, hm?" I feel it put its head on my lap and whimper.

"Oh. Shame about Abatha, isn't it?" it asks, changing the subject.

"What about Abatha?" I ask.

"I always respected her so much. How she always took such good care of you. Despite the little brat you were. And then putting yourself at such risk. So selfish…"

I shove its head away and it starts to pad around me, its tail flicking my shoulder.

"Shame you'll never find out about your parents. I bet Abatha knows. I bet she could tell you…Oh, but wait."

"There's still a chance I get out of this," I say, growling too.

It doesn't scare it, but only makes it laugh. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But you already know your mother," it explains.

I don't know what it's referring to. I've never met her before. "That's impossible," I say.

"Impossible yes, but true no," it whispers, laying back down beside my feet and curling its tail around its paws.

I'm about to strangle it again, when it's tail points to my neck. I look down and spot the shining locket dangling beneath my shirt. My locket. I had completely forgotten I was even wearing it. I mean, jewelry has really been the last thing on my mind since I've stepped in her. I pull it out from under my shirt and examine its golden glare.

"Aren't you going to open it up?" it asks.

I open the locket to reveal the picture of my mother. I stare at it for a long while. Trying to recall if I had ever seen her face before.

"Pretty," it adds, peering up to see the photograph.

All of a sudden, something in my mind clicks and there's a familiarity that I uncover, but I can't pinpoint exactly.

"I have met her before," I mutter. Her eyes, her hair, her face. There's something there. Something I've seen before. Somewhere, somehow.

When I try to find the fox again, it's gone.


	16. Red Water

I look around me and it's not dark anymore. The sun has begun to emerge and the orange dawn sky is approaching. I make sure to check the bushes, hoping to spot the fox's distinctive scarlet fur hidden somewhere away, but I can't see it. My furry companion is gone and there's a loneliness that's starting to eat away at me. Maybe I should refrain from saying that... The girl from 7. Her death. The boy from 12. Jumping up and down. In the lake. Seeing him. Passing out.

Shouldn't I be dead? Wasn't that my cannon I heard before passing out. Or his? Maybe someone else heard him and killed him. Or maybe the Gamemakers did. Cannibalism doesn't play well with the Capitol audience. It has happened before, although very rarely, but usually the Gamemakers take them out so that the victor is not a complete lunatic. But I don't remember hearing anything. Or seeing anything appear. I was the only one there. Could I have killed him?

I look around and see my bow on the ground beside me. It couldn't have been a dream. I couldn't have been hallucinating. Either both from 7 and 12 are dead, or I don't know what's real anymore.

It's easy to spot the destruction of the path I had made when crashing through the woods. The thought of how easily someone, like the boy from 12, could track me down, urges me to start running again, but I assure myself he's dead. It's relieving, to think the last I will ever see of him will be tonight, but even though he's gone forever, I know his face will haunt me until the day I die.

I still feel numb. Not cold-although I am a little-but not conscious of my surroundings. Like I'm only partly alive. Like I'm living inside of the shell of my former self. Free from pain or pleasure. Like I'm tugging at my brain in order to make myself move. And with careful enough precision, low-and-behold, I'm up, bow in hand.

My morning is spent forcing myself to drink as much water as I possibly can, until my supply is bone-dry, and finishing off the bird I had shot earlier.

After those two mundane tasks, I lose whatever strength I had and revert back to slumping on a tree stump. I watch a lady crawful up the branches of a honeysuckle bush and lose the motivation to do anything else except that. What I'm really hoping is for that little fox to come back. I know he must have been a figure of my imagination or something along those lines, no doubt, but, like when I was talking to Jackson by the pond, our entire conversation feels like a distant dream, one that I can hardly remember when I woke up. Only bits and pieces blurred between the confines of my mind. But I definitely remember seeing it. Talking to it. I'm absolutely positive.

The sight of a golden gleam attract my eyes and I look down to spot the locket suspended from my neck and dangling on the outside of my black shirt. The sight of it is so mesmerizing it pulls me into it and I stare at the image of my mother's face. Our conversation had something to do with this.

Think, Marisole, I say to myself, putting my brain to work. Nothing comes up. Just her face and the odd familiarity I can't seem to shake off. Like I've met her before. Or seen her before. Or know something about her that I can't for the life of me remember. Why can't I remember? I close the locket and tuck in under my shirt again.

That fox knew. Abatha knew. Everyone seems to know expect me. Everyone is playing some sort of cruel joke on me and everyone I know is in on it. Really, I don't know what's real and what isn't. I don't know who to trust and who to not.

Here are some things I'm certain of. I'm still in the Games. Everyone here is an enemy who would kill be on the spot. There's still six other tributes left. I've missed yesterday's nightly report, so I don't know who else is dead. So I'm also not very bright. The only reason I'm still alive is because I've ran from most of my problems and that I'm lucky. The only way I can get out of here alive is if everyone else is dead. Meaning five more people have to be die. Only five. And one of them has to be Lynne.

Lynne.

The very thought of his name sends a pang of remorse through me. My district partner. It's possible his cannon was the one I missed. That he's already out of this awful place. That would probably be for the best. Leaving me with the task to kill him is not on my number one list of most enjoyable things to do. I'm going on a hunch that the same goes for him too.

The cry of an eagle above startles me as I reach for the ax strapped in my belt. I watch the brown feathers of the bird soar above my head and disappear somewhere elsewhere in the woods. They never seem to pass the treeline. They stay in the sky. It's their domain. Like with the bees in the flowers and the wolves in the trees, they stick to their zones. Well, it's not like I'm going to grow a pair of wings and fly up there. They're probably just there to scare me. Put me on edge. Let me tell you, I'm about as close to the edge as you can get.

The sensation of the beating sun burning my skin to a crisp reminds me that I should probably get moving. The same thing I've been telling myself to do every day since I've stepped foot in here. Get up, look for water, hunt, kill time, watch the anthem, go to sleep, and repeat. Of course, there has been the occasional mutt encounters, tributes trying to chase me down, avalanches, blood water, and cannibalism, but nothing too out of the ordinary. This is the Hunger Games. Is anything really too far-fetched?

Somehow, I've managed to get myself on my feet with my bag across my shoulder and my precious bow gripped in my hands. I make sure to count my arrows before I forget. I only have eight left. I know lost three while hunting, but I can't account for the fourth. Maybe I lost while running through the woods last night. No matter. I still have plenty more to spare.

I look around the familiar trees encircling me. There's something about them, their charcoal bark, their dark-green pines, their tall stature, that brings me relief. What I found unsettling day one, is now a welcoming sight and it gets me moving.

Okay, Marisle. Step one, get up. Check. Step two, look for water. Easy enough.

I should probably start heading back to the cornucopia. There's the lake and I'm almost certain I didn't see any flowers growing near it when I saw it during the bloodbath. It's most likely untouched. Considering it's in a dangerous place already. Others will be there too. Or at least in the vicinity. Now that the avalanche drove us into the woods, people will have been heading in that direction. If I hadn't chosen to track others down, I would have headed there too.

As I walk, I make sure to keep my senses sharp. I shouldn't underestimate my fellow tributes. After all, no one makes it this far into the games by accident. We've all proven ourselves, whether it be skill, cunning, strength, or a combination of all three. Luck never gets you this far.

It doesn't take long for the sight of a small stream with a gentle current catches my eye and I rush towards it. I know it's likely to be abandoned so I don't spend much time checking the area around it for any enemies. My bottle is filled, when I notice the dark coloration of the surface. I've already taken a sip when the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and I spit the water out. I look down below me and see the stream I had thought was filled with water, drenched with flowing red blood.

I make sure to devoid my entire throat of the awful fluid and back away. I pour the blood from my bottle out and start to shake.

Am I losing my mind again?

The thought of the blood lake enters my mind. Could this have been connected to it and I had just not seen it before? The sight of the lake brings back awful memories, but I know that there weren't any streams connected.

The Gamemakers, I mutter.

They must have done this. Filled the streams and rivers with blood. They must have laced the water sources with blood so that they become undrinkable. Most likely as a way to bring us together again. Back to the cornucopia. I'm practically certain that the lake there has been left untouched. They must want to end these Games as soon as possible.

The thought of the mountains enters my head. The snow scattered across the ground and meters thick. I could probably fill my bottle there. But from where I am now, it's a good day's journey. Plus, these past few days have been unusually hot, and there's no guarantee the snow hasn't melted yet.

I curse under my breathe. The Gamemakers are wiser than I thought.

Alright, if they want to go to the cornucopia, then to the cornucopia I will go. No point in waiting for the inevitable. Might as well just finish this now. Besides, if I wait it out, without any water, I'll be dead in a matter of days anyhow. That must be what their gunning for. Fight, or stay here in the woods to die from dehydration. Got to say, I love my options.

The view of the crimson water flowing so calmly gets me moving again.

As I continue heading in the direction where the Games began, the mossy ground below me starts to disappear, and the terrain evolves into one filled with boulders-initially small in size, but then growing larger and larger in scale-signalling that I'm entering a new part of the arena I've never been before. The ground is absent from dirt, and instead, covered in sand that's mixed in with the green grass. Jagged rocks start to poke out from the ground around me and the black trees become fewer and fewer.

Maybe I should climb a tree and get a vantage point. That way I could pinpoint exactly where I need to go.

I pick a sturdy-looking tree that towers high into the sky. I hoist my bow across my shoulders and start to climb. I hoist myself up the tree, placing my hands cautiously on the black bark and choosing only branches that I feel secure. I'm light, which gives me an advantage, but knowing where to place your hands and legs is just as important. Climbing trees helped keep me safe whenever a wild animal would sneak into the farms. Then, when I was high enough, and the animal couldn't reach me, I could easily pick it off with an arrow from above.

Although, I never went too high up. It's not that I couldn't, or that I was too scared, it's just that I never really needed to. I remind myself it's no different than, expect the fact that the limbs of the tree are barely small enough for a squirrel now and if I fall, the drop will kill me on impact.

I shake the thought away and don't dare look down. Fortunately, when I reach the point where I know I can no longer scamper up anymore, the breeze isn't very strong. I hold onto the bark for deer life and look around. From here I can see the mountains behind me. I'm glad to know I didn't head back because there's no snow anymore and all that's left is the rocky gray surface. Now that I'm up high, I can see just how far the avalanche had gone and the scale of the carnage it caused. Trees are uprooted or slanted as far as the meadow to the north a good portion of the woods have been flattened.

I keep looking until I spot the golden horn shining off in the distance. It's much closer now than when I was up in the mountains. I can see the empty, discarded crates, the blood still staining the grass, and most importantly the clear blue water from the lake. So I was right. They are driving us to the cornucopia.

I make my way back down, careful not to dislodge a branch, and hop down to the sandy grass. The impact is harder than I had anticipated and it knocks me flat on the ground. My legs feel like they might have broken. I roll my pants up to my knee to make sure. It's not broken, but the sight of my skinny leg is not a good sign. I can easily see my bone through the skin. Lacking any strength, or muscle. What with the constant energy I'm using up during the day and the little food I'm taking in, I'm slowly starting to starve. I look like one of those people on the streets back home. Too sick or injured to feed themselves. Their faces shrunk, their arms and legs as thin as a child's, their ribs; clear black-and-white lines. I'm glad there's no mirrors around because my eyes must be as hollow as a crater.

I grab ahold of my bow.

Step three, hunt. Before I lose the energy to even do that anymore.

As I listen for the sounds of game, I notice the sand take over and cover my feet. The rocks become larger and large until I have to start climbing over massive boulders. The trees are very few and I know that hunting here will be substantially more difficult. I stoop down on the hot surface of a scalding rock overlooking the sun. There's also the chance that there are snakes slithering around here, hiding behind one of the rocks. Or scorpions, for all I know.

While I'm stuck trying to figure out whether scorpions are edible or not, the sight of a bloody footprint in the sand catches my eye. I hop off the rock in order to get a better look. A shoe print, from a boot. I place my own foot beside it, in the hopes of uncovering who it might belong to. It's far too big to belong to someone of my size. Probably too big to be a girl's. It has to be a boy's. Or a girl with very large feet. Either way, it means someone has been here. I touch the blood to find that it's still fresh. Someone has been here not too long ago.

I load an arrow into my string and look for any other signs of the tribute. There's another footprint of the side of a boulder. I follow it, very cautiously, however. Another footprint appears on the sand again and I know which direction they were heading in. Towards the cornucopia. By the fourth print, the blood has started to fade and I know they must be somewhere nearby. All the slabs of stone create an endless amount of hiding spots, so I climb onto a particularly large one to get a better view.

It's hard to see with the sun in my eyes and the littered surface of the ground, but there's a river not too far from where I stand, hidden between the sand and rocks.

I hop from one rock to another, now that they're so big and there's little space between them, until I can smell the blood entering my nose. The water is deep, making it appear black. There's a good chance if someone was here they'd follow the river upstream.

I check behind me, confirming that someone isn't following me, and I follow the red water. The river gets wider and wider the more upwards I go, but the current is less rapid. I can't find anymore footprints, and I'm about to give up my search and head back into the woods when I spot the outline of a body floating face first in the water.

It's hard to see them clearly, but my first reaction is that it's the boy from 12, his size and all, and I'm enter another state of shock. Is he dead? Why hasn't a hovercraft picked him up? Is he still alive? Is he here to kill me? Is this all some sort of trap? I'm about to send to arrow flying when I notice the blond hair sticking out.

I immediately recognize who it is just in time to change the trajectory of the arrow. It lands a few feet from his head and makes a little splash as it enters the water. The sound of it hitting the surface makes him turn around on his back, and I do the only sensible thing I can do.

I call out his name.


End file.
